


Honeyed Poison

by peachis



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Aphrodisiacs, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, CBT, Cockwarming, Comeplay, Conditioning, Deepthroating, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional and Sexual Abuse, Forced Into Incest by a Third Party, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Gang Rape, Gaslighting, Hand Feeding, Incest, Knifeplay, M/M, Nipple Torture, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Spanking, Objectification, Panic Attacks, Piercings, Public Humiliation, Public Rape, Punishment, Sex Toys, Sounding, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Humiliation, Wax Play, but all is not well in Vere, condescending praise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-05-27 12:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15024275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachis/pseuds/peachis
Summary: Droit du premier-né:the right of the firstborn.The second of two laws introduced in Vere after the attempted murder of Prince Edgard by his bastard brother, droit du premier-né was intended to ensure that any prince born after the first heir could not raise support to take arms against his brother.Of course, it was not so simple as that, as Laurent would discover.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinkiking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkiking/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer for anyone who misinterpreted, misunderstood, or just plain missed the tags: this work of fiction contains graphic scenes of rape, incest, sexual and emotional abuse, and explicit content featuring a fictional character under the age of eighteen. If you believe that this content will distress you, please don't read any further. The dove could not be any deader.

_'This was Vere, voluptuous and decadent, country of honeyed poison.'_

 

It was Auguste who taught him about pets.

Laurent was hiding in the library in his favourite spot, a window seat tucked away in a quiet corner half hidden behind an ancient and dusty velvet curtain. On any normal day he would have had a heavy tome propped open on his lap and another three piled at his feet, brow furrowed in concentration as he turned the vellum pages carefully, mouthing words he couldn’t quite pronounce yet and resisting the urge to skip ahead to the beautifully detailed illustrations. But it was not a normal day.

He was frowning as he peered through the warped glass down at the palace gardens spread out below, but his thoughts were preoccupied with more recent events than those he lingered over in historical accounts. More serious matters than the legends that usually captured his young imagination.

Laurent was tangentially aware that not every country had pets. His mother’s homeland of Kempt did not. Vask, just across the mountainous border he’d traced on maps did not, although they had something called concubines which seemed to be similar. Patras and Akielos kept slaves which were not the same, Auguste had been very firm on that point, although many of them were descended from Veretian pets taken after the fall of Artes.

Laurent had vague memories of his father’s last pet, Felip. His Patran heritage had shown in his dark hair and warm complexion, as different from Queen Hennike as one could imagine. Kind and funny he’d been a comforting presence in the royal wing, often pinching Laurent’s cheeks and slipping him treats of sugared almonds. He couldn’t remember exactly when Felip had left court but Aleron hadn’t taken another pet since.

His mother had never taken on a pet. Nor had his uncle, to Laurent’s knowledge.

Auguste had, twice. The first had been when Laurent was too young to recall, as was traditional for the Crown Prince on reaching his majority. The second, a pretty young brunet named Garaile with startling green eyes, had won a contract with Auguste the previous spring by beating him in a game of dice. Laurent hadn’t cared for Garaile. The boy had been at Auguste’s side for the rest of the season, stealing his attention away. Auguste had found it funny when Laurent pouted and sulked, jealous at having to share his brother, and Laurent hadn’t been sorry when Auguste chose not to renew Garaile’s contract.

The pets had always been there. People had wives and husbands for when they wanted to have children and pets for when they didn’t. That was how it was, how it had been for centuries.

Pets featured in as many stories and folktales as heroes and warriors did. Most infamously there was Vauquelin of Marches, whose captivating beauty inspired poems and ballads and almost started a war, Melisende, who saved her gentle mistress from many mishaps with her quick wits and clever thinking, and loyal Elouan, who refused to abandon his beloved king and died by his side on an ancient battleground.

All of this, Laurent knew. But before that day he had never truly considered what it truly meant to be a pet.

The sound of footsteps approaching his hiding place roused Laurent from his thoughts, there was only one person who knew to look for him in that spot.

‘You gave your poor nursemaid quite a scare,’ said Auguste, pulling the curtain aside with a smile. ‘She was convinced you’d been kidnapped, roused half the guards and sent for Mother before I could stop her.’

‘Am I in trouble?’ Laurent asked, not yet unwinding from his hunched position, arms wrapped tightly around his knees.

‘Of course not.’ The question seemed to surprise Auguste and he took a closer look at his brother. ‘What’s wrong?’

Laurent avoided his gaze and shrugged his shoulders slightly.

‘Laurent? Did something happen?’ Auguste joined him on the cushioned window seat, sending a cloud of dust drifting upwards like flecks of gold leaf in the early evening sunlight. ‘Tell me.’

‘What are pets for?’ he asked and Auguste blinked at him.

‘Well,' he said presently, 'they are companions. You know this, Laurent.’

Laurent hid his face in his folded arms and Auguste sighed, reaching across the window seat to lift him bodily into his lap. ‘What’s brought this on, hm?’

Although he was really too old to be manhandled in such a fashion, Laurent didn’t resist. It was consoling to be held thus, the way Auguste had comforted him since he was very small.

‘Pets are how we show the people that we are caring and capable providers,’ Auguste explained gently, tucking Laurent’s hair behind his ears. ‘Since marriages are so often made for allegiances, for political or financial reasons, or just to carry on the line, keeping a pet shows that the nobility has the means to support more than just direct family members. To the common folk it says that we can be relied upon.’

Laurent mused on this for a moment but it did not really answer his question. ‘If they’re just for show,’ he said, ‘then, why in the ring-’

‘It’s a reciprocal relationship,’ said Auguste. ‘We couldn’t go around draping jewels and silks on strangers just to show off. That would be very gauche, don’t you think?’ he tickled Laurent’s ribs with a teasing smile until Laurent squirmed and giggled. ‘Pets are performers,’ Auguste continued once he’d settled down. ‘Like minstrels and poets, and the dancers and tumblers we see during festivals. And, like them, they have patrons to allow them to pursue their passions.’

‘But,’ Laurent mumbled, the words muffled as he chewed anxiously on a hangnail. ‘They do other things. And,’ he paused as Auguste gently tugged his thumb away from his mouth. ‘I saw something.’

‘What did you see?’

Laurent’s cheeks coloured and he ducked his head against his brother’s shoulder. ‘Lord Neven’s pet.’

‘Ah.’ Auguste sighed, leaning back in his seat and tucking Laurent more firmly against his chest.

Laurent hadn’t meant to spy. He’d been playing by himself in the gardens, his lessons finished for the morning and the girl assigned to watch him gossiping distractedly with another servant. Laurent knew there were parts of the grounds he wasn’t supposed to go into but there was no-one willing to take him to the stables, Auguste was busy doing something boring and officious with their father, and he really only meant to look around.

The palace gardens were as sprawling and lavish as the interior rooms and yet Laurent was only acquainted with small parts of them. He’d never wandered unaccompanied through the grounds before, although he’d lived all his short years with them on his doorstep, and to him they were as thrilling a wilderness as any he’d read about in any tale of adventure.

Left to his own devices, Laurent followed winding pathways decorated with brightly coloured tiles, ducked around bushes dripping with waxy pink and yellow blossoming flowers and trailed his fingers across the surface of a cool pond, sending sparkling water droplets scattering in surprise when a huge spotted fish arose from the shadows of the drifting water lilies to nibble at them.

The summer afternoon air was heavy and Laurent felt stifled in his formal jacket and trousers. He sought relief beneath the branches of heavy hanging fruit trees and, when that was still too warm, slipped into the cool shade of the hedge maze he’d seen many times from the windows of the palace but never had the chance to investigate.

Laurent followed the line of elegantly pruned hedges around in a rambling spiral, one hand skimming over the pleasantly springy leaves. The maze soon led him to a clearing with an elaborately carved bench at its centre, arched passageways cut from the hedges leading out in any number of possible directions. He turned in a circle, contemplating which direction to take, when a strange sound echoed through the most distant archway, loud enough to startle several songbirds into flight from their perches in the bushes.

When he edged around the corner, wary of being caught straying from his guardian, Laurent found himself in a small courtyard half hung with pennants and draped in fronds of jasmine. It wasn’t immediately obvious what had made the noise but now he could hear the familiar sounds of a gathered court, the lilting pitch of conversation punctuated with genteel laughter, the faint rustle of fine clothing that signified the nobles harmonising with the sweet tinkling of bells and hushed silks of their pets.

Another bench, larger than the last and boasting plush embroidered cushions, provided a comfortable vantage point from which he could peer past the entrance of the courtyard through to the ornamental lawns. The courtiers were a short distance away, arranged in a loose crescent around something Laurent couldn’t quite see, liveried servants holding parasols and fans obscured his view. Several of the courtiers had drinks in their hands, cut crystal and gem studded metal glinting brilliantly in the sunlight, but there were no other refreshments, no rugs or cushions laid out on the grass so the pets could lounge.

A glimpse of golden hair caught Laurent’s attention and it was then that he realised his father, his uncle, and Auguste were amongst the crowd, stood on the farthest side of the crescent. Auguste looked solemn and attentive which was a clear indication that he was terribly bored. Even at twenty years old, responsible and dignified as any crown prince should be, Laurent knew his brother would rather be hunting or training or teaching Laurent to jump his fat little pony over obstacles than standing sweating in full regalia at the King’s right hand.

Laurent hopped down from the bench and crept out of the courtyard, staying in the shadow of a bower of fig trees as he made for his brother’s side. Auguste wouldn’t be angry that he had snuck away from his chaperone, he often told stories of the mischief he used to put the staff through when he was younger.

As he got closer to the group Laurent realised he could hear that same sound again, quieter now but unmistakable. It reminded him of the whines his mother’s alaunt hounds made when they wanted something. A woman shifted position ahead of him, opening a gap in the crowd, and Laurent finally saw what they were watching.

It was a _pet_ making that sound.

Laurent recognised him as Lord Neven’s newest contract by the uncommon shade of his dark auburn hair, but he had never seen him like this before. He had never seen any pet like this, not even when he attended public events where the pets dressed in very little and draped themselves provocatively over their patrons.

The pet was bound stomach down over another bench, his arms lashed behind his back with rope so he could not struggle. A guardsman was stood between his spread legs and Laurent went cold and then hot all over when he realised what was happening.

He had once seen a stallion mount an in-season mare in the paddock beyond the stable yard. The mare had kicked and bit and bucked but to no avail, the stallion was bigger and stronger and more determined and eventually she’d gone still and submissive beneath its weight. It was that scene which came to mind then, as he watched the guard take the pet with violent, uncaring thrusts.

‘How many is this?’ the woman who’d moved asked in an undertone, the breeze carrying the question back to Laurent. ‘I arrived late.’

‘Only the fourth,’ her friend whispered a reply in heavily accented Veretian. ‘They’re just warming up. A pity they gagged him so early, but he was making quite a racket.’

The pet’s face was shiny with tears and Laurent glimpsed the aforementioned cloth gag biting into the edges of his mouth. The lewd, wet sound of flesh on flesh and the halting whines that each impact forced from the pet’s mouth seemed louder now, out in the open, and he couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t heard them before. As he watched, motionless with shock, the guardsman’s thrusts sped until eventually he stilled with a violent shudder.

That must be the end, Laurent thought. He should leave before anyone saw him watching. But when he glanced at the courtiers none of them appeared to have any intention of moving. His uncle hid a yawn behind one ring-heavy hand while Auguste subtly shifted from one foot to the other. King Aleron could have been carved from marble for all the reaction he showed, shoulders perfectly straight and hands folded behind his back.

Movement drew Laurent’s attention away from his family as another guardsman stepped up to the bench. There was a group of them stood alongside the nobles, a retinue numbering nearly fifteen in total, and for the first time Laurent understood that they were not there to perform their usual duties.

The new guard was bigger than the last, in all ways, and Lord Neven’s pet made a pained sound when he entered him. The guardsman set a punishing pace, pushing the pet forward in his bonds until he was tilting off the edge of the bench, hair falling in his eyes and face ground into the earth beneath him. The pet seemed panicked by the new angle and struggled more than he had before, but the guard was unrelenting and merely took him harder.

When the pet finally went limp, giving over to the brutal rhythm, his face lax and eyes unfocused, Laurent stumbled away from the scene and, his stomach churning and heart racing, fled back into the hedge maze.

‘I didn’t mean to watch,’ Laurent told Auguste, and then, ‘why were they doing that to him?’

Auguste hummed, tilting his head back against the carved wood of the window frame. ‘Do you know why a man can’t keep a female pet?’ he asked eventually.

Laurent had heard the tale of Prince Edgard and Asce enough times to know the answer to that. ‘To stop them making bastards?’ he answered guilelessly, blinking up at his brother.

‘Just so,’ Auguste laughed, then sobered. ‘Lord Neven’s pet broke a rule. He was caught servicing a woman of the court.’

‘Oh.’ Laurent toyed with the brocade trim of his brother’s jacket as he mulled this over. ‘So, he was being punished?’

‘Exactly right, that’s very good. You’re such a clever boy.’ Auguste ruffled his hair and Laurent glowed under the praise.

‘A pet’s contract must be obeyed to the letter,’ Auguste spoke as though he was reciting an important lesson from memory, his voice similar to the tone Laurent’s tutor used when he instructed him. ‘Else it reflects poorly on both parties. A pet who disobeys has no value and a patron who cannot keep his pet in line commands no respect. Punishment for infractions is the norm, just like when a person breaks a law, and what Lord Neven’s pet did was very bad. In the past, he would have been put to death for such a transgression. What you saw was a punishment more fitting to his crime. A liberty for a liberty. Do you understand now?’

Laurent nodded but his mind still lingered on the pet, the way he’d sobbed broken sounds into the dirt until the light had finally gone out of his eyes.

‘It looked like it hurt.’

Auguste wound a strand of Laurent’s hair around his fingers absently. ‘Sometimes, when a crime is very bad, the one who did it has to be made an example of. To show others what the consequences would be if they did the same.’

Laurent was silent and Auguste hugged him closer. ‘Don’t worry, Laurent. As long as you follow the rules there’s no need for punishment, only rewards. Just like when you’re good and pay attention in lessons you’re allowed to go riding and have sweets for dessert.’ He stood, swinging Laurent up and over his shoulder easily, heedless of his wriggling and delighted yelps. ‘Put it out of your mind, little brother. Come on, it’s not too late yet. Let’s go down to the stables.’

Laurent tried to be good, like Auguste said, and forget about what he’d seen but it still came back to him sometimes despite his best efforts. As he grew older he was expected to spend more time at court affairs and the constant presence of the pets pricked at him. The shows in the ring made him uneasy. No matter how often Auguste assured him that the pets enjoyed the performances, so many of them mirrored mockeries of the all too real scene he’d stumbled across in the gardens.

Auguste, sympathetic to his discomfort, did his best to shield him from the worst of the court’s depravities. He was devoted, even their father commented on the way he indulged Laurent. King Aleron’s disapproval of his youngest son’s perceived softness might have bothered Laurent more if he didn’t have Auguste but as far as he was concerned, as long as he had his brother by his side there could be nothing wrong in the world.

* * *

War changed Auguste.

Laurent couldn’t speculate how much of it had been the loss of their mother, whom he’d loved dearly and mourned fiercely, as the invasion came so swiftly on the heels of that grief. Auguste had thrived in battle at first, channeling his frustrations into the fighting, but it wasn’t long before he flagged. Whether it was enduring the strains of a long campaign, watching his friends and fellow countrymen die bloody at his side, the shock of the first life he took in true combat, or the many more that followed, something was wearing on Auguste and Laurent could see it.

‘You are my only comfort here,’ Auguste confided in him one night in the camp at Sanpelier. Outside the fires were lit and someone was playing a cheery melody on a lute but Auguste sought refuge inside the prince’s tent rather than carousing with his generals or whiling away the night with a camp follower.

Laurent found he did not care for warfare. Strategy he could tolerate, there was a bloodless kind of logic to it. But put into practice, when troop movements and faceless enemies became the reality of churned up mud and soldiers shrieking, weeping, and bleeding out at his feet, it tore at him. Still, for his brother’s sake, Laurent found he was glad that their father had insisted he be a part of the fight to defend their country from the barbaric Akielons.

He was glad too, in the end, that he was on the field at Marlas. Auguste had forbidden him from riding out when the early attack was called. He wasn’t allowed near the front once the fighting had begun either, Laurent had to hang back behind the lines and watch with his uncle as King Aleron directed his generals.

When word came to them at the hands of a young squire that Auguste had fallen, Laurent had broken free of the King’s Guard in the ensuing chaos and raced for the northern flank. He did not see his father remove his helm, nor the arrow that struck him in the throat and slew him. Half blinded by tears and terror, Laurent did not see much of anything, nor did he hear the cry that went up when the King fell over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His horse stumbled and went down beneath him and Laurent threw himself from the saddle to avoid being crushed. Staggering to his feet under the weight of his armour, once pristine now soiled with the filth of battle, he ducked around clashing soldiers until, finally, he reached the frontline.

Laurent was running on instinct and adrenaline and pure certainty that his brother could not be dead. Even so, he nearly fell to his knees in relief when he caught a glimpse of Auguste, _alive_ , locked in combat with the younger Akielon prince. The fight was as savage as it was skilful, Auguste driving Damianos back with deliberate strikes, the barbarian prince parrying with proficiency despite his relative youth.

Auguste went into a feint that Laurent recognised from many hours watching his brother in the practice ring and then, just as he stepped into it, his eyes caught on Laurent where he stood watching. It happened all too fast. Auguste cut too far to the left and faltered on the uneven terrain and Damianos pressed his advantage when Auguste was unable to pull back into position.

Later, when Laurent had begged forgiveness for distracting his brother at such a crucial moment, Auguste told him that it was his shout which made the Akielon prince hesitate, that turned what would have been a killing blow into a grievous but not deadly injury. The barbarian could have dispatched him while he was lying prone on the ground but instead, perhaps remembering Auguste’s own honour when he’d allowed the Akielon to reclaim his sword, he had offered a truce.

Aleron was dead and Auguste would be King, if he lived to make it off the battlefield. It was easy enough to accept.

All that followed remained a bewildering blur to Laurent. He recalled the coppery tang of fresh blood mixed with the choking reek of hastily erected charnel tents. The sight of his father’s face, still in death. A man, pale and drawn with a familiar countenance, dressed in the livery of the archery regiment, watching him as he stood outside of the physician’s tents waiting for word of his brother’s condition.

Uncle had found him then and spoken words Laurent couldn’t remember, no matter how he tried.

Over the next few days Uncle rarely let Laurent out of his sight. It was not difficult to keep track of him, if he was not sitting at Auguste's bedside he was hovering outside of his chambers waiting to be allowed back in. Auguste's injuries were deep and infection had spread quickly through the wounded. Paschal, the royal physician, ordered him moved directly to the fort after the truce had been called and Uncle stepped forward to take over the negotiations while he rested.

Despite Paschal's ministrations, Auguste's health seemed to diminish and fade further the longer he stayed abed. Laurent was wracked with fear for his brother's fate. His world narrowed to the halting rise and fall of Auguste's chest, the rattle of his breath, the weight of his hand, senseless in Laurent's own. The scent of the sickroom sank into his skin and he imagined he could still feel the stickiness of blood under his nails no matter how he scrubbed at them.

Laurent sat and waited for Auguste to come back to himself.

It was only a little over a week later, although it felt longer, that Laurent was awakened in the very early hours of the morning by someone entering his brother's chamber. Although Uncle had visited his ailing nephew that evening and sent Laurent away to sleep, he'd snuck back into Auguste's room as soon as he was able. Laurent could only rest when he could see for himself that his brother still clung to life.

Roused from a quickly fading dream, one hand still clutching Auguste's, Laurent turned to find not a guard or his uncle or a physician but the same man who had watched him so closely after the battle. The archer. He looked even more haggard than he had before, the sharp smell of cheap wine hung around him like a cloud, and he stopped dead when he caught sight of Laurent.

‘You are not supposed to be here.’ He had the demeanour of a man speaking to himself, as though he was not certain that Laurent was really present.

Laurent stood from the wooden chair he'd pulled close alongside the bed, he could tell by the archer's harassed demeanour that he should not stay sitting down for this encounter. ‘Who are you?’

‘He told me no-one would be here,’ the archer said, looking around, and Laurent recalled that there had been no guards at the door when he'd let himself in. ‘This isn't right, not right at all.’

Laurent tried to angle himself so he was between the man and his brother's prone form. ‘What do you want?’

The archer looked at him then, and Laurent knew. His father, King Aleron, slain by an arrow to the throat behind the lines where he should have been safe. Auguste, growing weaker by the day despite being plied with tonics and medicines. This was treason and the man standing before him had played a part in it.

Laurent was unarmed, clad in just his nightclothes. There was a heavy glass oil lamp within his reach set on the low table beside the bed but the last thing he wanted was to start a fire. He would have to attempt to talk his way out of this.

‘Who sent you?’ he asked and the archer seemed about to answer him when there was a disturbance from the hallway outside and Paschal burst into the room clutching a sheaf of papers with the King’s Guard at his back.

‘Langren,’ he said and Laurent had never heard such a display of raw emotion from the man. ‘What have you done?’

The archer barely spared him a glance, looking instead to the assembled guardsmen. ‘Have you betrayed me, brother?’

‘Betrayed you?’ Paschal seemed beside himself, he brandished the bundle of papers in his hand. ‘How can you say that, after this?’

The guards did not seem to know what to do and Laurent steeled himself to take charge of the situation. ‘Summon the council,’ he addressed them. ‘Bring them here directly.’

There was a pause when it seemed as if they might not listen to their crown prince but then Jord, one of the youngest and newest members, stepped forward. ‘I’ll go.’

‘No,’ said Laurent quickly. ‘You stay here. One of the others.’

Auguste himself had promoted Jord to the Prince’s Guard after the young soldier had fought with him at Sanpelier, and he’d unofficially joined his retinue after Marlas. Jord had saved his brother’s life, to hear Auguste tell it, and Laurent trusted him to protect the King now when so much was uncertain.

Two of the guards left to follow Laurent’s orders and he turned his attention to the physician and his brother.

‘Paschal, what is written on those papers?’

The archer, Langren, sagged into himself as Paschal stepped forward and handed them to Laurent. ‘A confession,’ he croaked, passing a heavy hand over his face. ‘And a plea.’

Laurent skimmed the letter, physically staggering back as the words sunk in. He braced himself on the edge of his brother's sickbed, head spinning. This was more than he could have conceived. Even as he knew in his heart that what was written there was true everything in him cried out against it.

The guardsmen returned then, bringing with them the council members and, to Laurent's growing horror, his uncle.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ he asked, taking in the room with his usual implacable steadiness. He was the only one of them still dressed, the rest of the council members wearing their nightclothes. Laurent wondered distantly if he’d been waiting up, if Langren was expected to make a report to him after-

‘Nephew, you look pale. Is the King well?’

Laurent tried to speak but there was a tight band, like a fist, wrapped around his windpipe. Jord tentatively rested a comforting hand on his shoulder and he took a shaky breath.

‘Councilmen,’ said Laurent. ‘This man, Langren the archer, made an attempt tonight to murder the King.’

Chaos broke out, a clash of sound that rose in cacophony with only a single still point of silence in its midst.

‘That is a serious allegation, Laurent,’ Uncle said and there was a warning note beneath the words that belied his deference. ‘Are you certain you are not mistaken? You have been labouring under a heavy burden since the battle. I know you are grieving your father still, and fear for poor Auguste. Could it be you simply had a bad dream?’

Jord’s hand tightened on Laurent’s shoulder and he stood, holding the papers that Paschal had given him. ‘I have proof,’ he said, and a flicker of something terrifying crossed his uncle’s face. ‘A signed confession from the man himself claiming responsibility for the deaths of King Aleron and King Auguste.’

‘It's true,’ Paschal spoke up. ‘That is my brother’s hand, it bears his signature. He left the letter in my chambers before coming here to finish the deed that you ordered him to do.’

Clamour arose again from the council members. Uncle turned, perhaps to leave, but the King’s Guard blocked the door. Councillor Herode held his hand out for the letter and Laurent surrendered it to him, turning away from his uncle’s regard towards Auguste.

‘Is what you have written here true?’ Herode asked Langren and the archer nodded.

‘Please,’ he said. ‘My brother knew none of this. If you spare him I will tell you what you want to know.’

At the confirmation the guards sprang into action, taking a repentant Langren and silent Uncle into custody. Laurent watched from a point somewhere removed from himself as they were hurried out of the room, the council at their heels still arguing and debating.

‘Are you alright, your Highness?’ said Jord, bringing him back to himself.

Laurent shook himself and nodded. ‘I will be.’

Auguste was alive. That was all he could think. He’d nearly lost him, but he was alive. He’d lost Uncle, in the worst way he could fathom, but his brother was still alive.

There was a swift trial, during which he gave testimony, and a series of swifter executions. Laurent attended none of those. Instead, he stayed with Auguste who was making a slow but sure recovery now that Paschal had examined and altered the medicines used to treat him.

The morning that Auguste awoke and was truly himself again was the happiest Laurent had known since before their mother had passed. He felt certain that now his brother was well again, everything would be alright. It was, perhaps, a naïve assumption given everything that had happened, and one that he would look back on with some regret.

 * * *

King Auguste’s coronation was a subdued affair, coming as it did at the beginning of many months of mourning. The state funeral for their father overshadowed it both in attendance and pomp and ceremony. Auguste had always been beloved by the people of Vere but his rule had begun on shaky ground, the loss of Delfeur stung the nation’s pride despite it being a necessary sacrifice to appease Akielos, who had found themselves at an advantage with the Veretians falling into such sudden disarray and distrust.

Coming to terms with their uncle’s treachery was as distressing as it was humbling and Laurent was certain that it weighed as heavily on his brother as their father’s crown did. Though they did not speak of it, as the months passed Laurent could see the change in Auguste. He was quicker to anger than Laurent had known him to be before, short-tempered with the council and often displayed little patience for the necessary drudgery of kingship. His injuries still bothered him but he refused to see Paschal for salves or herbs that would ease the ache of healing. Laurent noted the way he grew lost in his thoughts sometimes, as though the world around him ceased to exist.

There was no avoiding the fact that Auguste was a different man than the one who had ridden out for Delfour and it was not merely that he’d left a prince and returned as King. It worried Laurent, for he knew he was not the only one to have noticed. Vere needed a capable leader in the wake of such tumultuous times and Auguste was falling short.

These fears continued to nag at Laurent, so much so that when he overheard an emergency council meeting had been called to discuss the King’s rule he did not hesitate before hiding himself away to eavesdrop. Laurent let himself into the stateroom some time before the meeting was to be held and concealed himself in an alcove behind a thick hanging tapestry, a hiding place he had discovered many years ago and one that allowed him to partly observe the room through a slight tear that had never been mended.

The council members trickled in one by one and settled themselves around the table, Auguste himself not far behind them.

‘Your Majesty,’ Councillor Herode began with audible trepidation once they were all seated. ‘A year has passed since you ascended the throne.’

‘Yes,’ Auguste said, eyebrow quirked in subtle amusement. ‘I’m well aware of that, thank you Councillor Herode.’ Only weeks prior Auguste and Laurent had suffered through a painful public memorial for those who had died at Marlas. ‘Are we not assembled to discuss the recent upheaval in Vask? That is what I had been lead to believe.’

Certain members of the council shifted uncomfortably.

‘We will address all topics at hand, your Majesty,’ Councillor Chelaut said, avoiding eye contact with his king. ‘This, I feel, takes precedence.’

‘Very well.’ Auguste leaned back in his chair. ‘Continue.’

‘It is the matter of marriage,’ said Chelaut.

‘I thought you were already married, Councillor,’ Auguste responded dryly. ‘Do I owe you congratulations or commiserations?’

No-one laughed. It was clear from Auguste's thinly veiled irritation that this was not the first time the subject of marriage had been brought before him.

‘If you are still reluctant to marry,’ said Councillor Audin, speaking up for the first time, ‘then perhaps it is time you took on a new pet contract.’

‘I have no need of that,’ Auguste said coolly, turning his attention to the documents spread before him on the tabletop.

Councillor Guion did not seem to hear the dismissal. ’You need something, your Majesty. People are already talking. If you will not take a wife-’

‘And who do you suggest I marry?’ Auguste asked lightly, only his fingers clenched white-knuckled on the arm of his chair betraying his true feelings on the matter. ‘The Empress of Vask? What a fine addition to her harem I’ll make. King Torgeir’s daughter is approaching two years of age, perhaps you intend to wed me to her. No? Someone closer to home then. Prince Damianos fought well when I met him on the battlefield and an alliance with Akielos would solve many problems. I’m sure he has any number of illegitimate brats crawling around the place if it’s an heir you’re after.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Herode blustered, the only council member brave enough to interrupt Auguste, just as Guion was the only one foolish enough.

‘A lady of the court might be found suitable for the King,’ he suggested but Councillor Chelaut shook his head gravely.

‘That would have been a fine solution if Auguste were still a prince but a newly crowned king handpicking a lady from his own court, so soon after such a terrible conflict? It would be taken as a slight by our allying nations.’

‘There is no one else,’ protested Councillor Guion. ‘If it was presented as a love-match-’

_‘Enough.’_ The room fell silent as Auguste got to his feet. ‘No more of this pointless talk of marriage. Laurent is still heir presumptive, I will formally name him as my heir apparent and this matter can wait until things are more settled.’

The hair on the back of Laurent’s neck rose as the mood of the room shifted palpably.

‘Your Majesty,’ Councillor Audin spoke carefully. ‘Given recent events, it would be… unwise, to publicly name Prince Laurent as your direct successor.’

‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ Laurent could no longer see Auguste’s face from his hiding spot but he could easily imagine the icy expression he must be wearing to match that tone.

‘You must understand,’ Guion piped up with falsely paternal bluster that made Laurent scowl. ‘Your uncle’s treason has cast a stain of doubt upon the royal family. A scandal of this magnitude hasn’t occurred since the days of Prince Edgard.’

‘Mind yourself, Councillor,’ Auguste said in a low voice, ‘that what you speak is not equally treasonous.’

Guion’s face flushed blotchy scarlet and he coughed into his fist, turning to look at Councillor Jeurre who cleared his throat several times before speaking.

‘There is some concern,’ said Councillor Jeurre diplomatically, ‘about Prince Laurent. It is mostly unfounded, we are all agreed on that. The boy is loyal to you.’

‘Of course he is,’ Auguste spoke as if it were a decree and Laurent warmed at the unwavering faith his brother showed in him.

‘Regardless-’ Jeurre cleared his throat again, eyes darting over to Audin who straightened his shoulders and took up the conversation.

‘Regardless, Prince Laurent cannot be named heir apparen. Not so soon after your father’s death. But there is another solution, one that will ensure the people’s trust in your brother and resolve the pressing need for a queen.’

Auguste lowered himself back into his seat wearily. ‘Tell me.’

Laurent barely dared to breathe, fingertips digging into the stone wall as he waited to hear the response. Surely they didn’t intend to wed _him_ to a foreign empress or a toddler?

‘Droit du premier-né.’

The world seemed to contract and expand at once. Shock ran through Laurent in a sickening wave. The sensation was eerily similar to being thrown from his favourite gelding, falling through the air in slow motion, certain of the pain that awaited him once he landed. It was different to the numbness that had taken him when he learned of his mother’s death, different again to the paralysing fear he’d felt after their father had been killed and the maddening days when he hadn’t known if Auguste would survive the wounds dealt to him at Marlas.

Frozen in place, heart fluttering in his throat, Laurent waited for Auguste to dismiss the matter immediately with a suitable level of outrage.

But Auguste was silent and when he did speak all he said was, ‘That practice is archaic.’

‘The tradition was upheld with great success for centuries,’ Herode finally spoke again, each word measured and to the point.

‘And was discontinued generations ago.’ Auguste rested his head in one hand and Laurent had a sudden longing to go to his side, torn between wanting to ease the weariness in his frame and to clutch at his shoulders, shout that he’d sworn this would never happen.

_Droit du premier-né:_ the right of the firstborn.

Auguste had been mild in his condemnation. It wasn’t just archaic, the law was positively barbaric.

Laurent himself had posited this fact when he’d first stumbled across documentation of the law in some of the older texts of the palace library, only four short years after Auguste had sat with him in the same rooms and calmed his fears about pets and punishments.

The second of two laws introduced in Vere after the attempted murder of Prince Edgard by his bastard brother, droit du premier-né was intended to ensure that any prince born after the first heir could not raise support to take arms against his brother. Of course, it was not so simple as that, as Laurent had discovered the further he read, and he’d sent for his brother to explain how this could possibly be legal. Shaking with barely repressed emotion, the lump in his throat almost choked him as he shoved the scroll he’d discovered in his brother’s face.

Auguste had merely pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘Brother, please calm down.’

‘I will not! This is no better than the things they do in Vask, or- or _Akielos!’_

‘Laurent.’ Auguste’s voice was loaded with disapproval and in any other situation Laurent would be desperate to appease him but he was too upset.

‘Why did you hide this from me?’ He felt small and stupid at the betrayal.

‘I wasn’t hiding anything from you,’ Auguste explained patiently. ‘It’s an ancient practice, one that’s not been invoked for nearly one hundred years.’

‘Then why hasn’t it been written out of the law?’

Auguste sighed again, leaning against the edge of the heavy wooden table. ‘There are many written laws that aren’t in effect anymore. Did you know that it was once law that any household, regardless of status, must keep a supply of hay on their property in case the king passed by and needed to feed his mount? Or that root vegetables from Ver-Vassel were illegal to consume until the Vaskian ambassador convinced our great-grandfather’s court that they weren’t poisonous? These laws were never repealed because it would have been time consuming and expensive to do so, they just phased out of use.’

‘Auguste, this law is not about hay or potatoes,’ said Laurent coldly. ‘It is about forcing second sons to become concubines.’

‘Pets are not concubines,’ Auguste waved a dismissive hand. ‘They’re not comparable.’

‘According to what is written here they are pets in name only. A permanent contract, paid for with the retention of monies and holdings that already belonged to the subject, which they can only access with permission from the king? This may as well be slavery.’

‘It is antiquated, that’s why it became obsolete. No-one follows this practice anymore. Father doesn’t keep Uncle this way, does he? Our Grandfather never kept his brothers like that.’

‘And you?’ Laurent’s voice was uneven as he asked, ‘Would you subject me to this?’

Auguste scoffed. ‘Really, brother, what would I want with a scruffy little thing like you?’

‘Scruffy?’ Laurent repeated, affronted enough that it jarred him out of his moral outrage.

‘Come here,’ said Auguste with a grin, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him roughly close for a hug. ‘You know I’d never let anything bad happen to you.’

Laurent rested his forehead against Auguste’s chest and slowly began to relax despite himself. ‘Do you swear it?’

‘On my life.’

Laurent had trusted his brother’s word, he had no reason not to. But now…

‘If your father had invoked the law,’ Guion admonished, ‘as was his right, instead of allowing his brother to fester in bitterness-’

Auguste gave him a dark look. ‘I have heard enough from you about my family, Councillor Guion. If you do not wish to take a very long sojourn from court to visit your own, you will hold your tongue.’

‘Auguste,’ said Herode, ‘my King. Please, listen to us. I know this is not a choice to make lightly but we have few options left. Your subjects deserve to rest easy, assured in the knowledge that they are safe, that their husbands and fathers and sons will not have to take up arms again when they are yet grieving so many losses. The people of Vere love you, as they loved your father. But they do not trust you as they trusted him.’

The reason why was clear, as was the solution.

‘He is my brother,’ Auguste said, but his tone was defeated.

‘If you will not do this the only alternative is to send him away. Foster him in Kempt, in Patras, or even Akielos. He’ll be as safe there as he would be here if you deny him this protection. Prince Laurent is a target now, for enemies and would-be-allies alike. If you want to keep him close, this is the only way.’

Laurent reeled. Sent away, to Akielos? Impossible. He couldn’t let that happen. Auguste would never allow it - but then what were they to do?

He barely heard the councillors as they called the meeting to a close, fixated as he was on his brother’s browbeaten posture where he sat at the head of the table. He didn’t move to rise as they filed out of the room, Herode pausing at his side to share some last words of wisdom before he took his leave, and then Auguste was alone.

‘You can come out now, Laurent,’ he said wearily.

Laurent almost tripped as he slipped out from behind the tapestry, his body didn’t seem to be responding as it usually did - shock had made him clumsy. He didn’t bother to ask how Auguste had known he was there. Auguste always knew.

‘If I’d thought they would be discussing this today, I wouldn’t have let you stay.'

‘Is it true?’ Laurent made himself ask. ‘Do they expect me to-’ he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Again, Auguste didn’t hurry to reassure him as he’d hoped he would. He looked older in that moment than Laurent had ever seen. He looked like their father.

‘If you want to leave, I’d understand. I’ll not send you to Kempt, and Patras is too far, but I could write to Prince Damianos.’

‘The barbarian who almost killed you?’

‘He honoured the treaty.’

‘No!’

‘Then what would you have me do?’ Auguste snapped, finally meeting his eyes, and Laurent recoiled at the rage and the helplessness he saw there. ‘I am not the king they want me to be. I lost Delfour. I let Uncle murder our father. I have no wife, no heir, no reason for them to trust me.’

‘It’s not you who they distrust.’

Auguste laughed but there was no humour in it. ‘No, they’ve no faith in you either. You, barely more than a boy. But who can blame them? None of us suspected Uncle, although perhaps we should have, considering.’ He trailed off, lost in thought.

The council could not enforce this. It solved almost nothing, Auguste would still be without an heir, without a wife. A pet could not succeed to the throne. This was why, as the years passed and Vere flourished in peacetime, the practice fell out of use. The threat of bastards remained taboo, for a bastard was more likely to turn on his family, but princes were highly regarded and respected, they had no need for more than they were given and so they were less of a threat.

Until Uncle.

‘Auguste,’ Laurent took a step closer, resting one trembling hand on the table for support. ‘What can be done to solve this?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Auguste, ‘perhaps, Vask? We have no official agreement with them, but if I spoke with the ambassador-’

‘You are not sending me to Vask.’

Auguste shook his head. ‘If you refuse to go they will insist I follow that law.’

‘You said yourself,’ Laurent argued, fists clenched, ‘it’s archaic.’

‘Nevertheless, it is still the law. I cannot fight my own council, they speak for the people and if I fight my own people I am no king at all.’

‘Auguste, please, you promised me.’

‘Then you must go to Akielos.’

The prospect was inconceivable. ‘I won’t leave you. I refuse. There must be another way.’

‘There is none. The law is the only way.’ A strange light entered Auguste’s eyes, a sharp kind of mania Laurent had only seen when his brother was fresh from battle. ‘Laurent, I have lost so much.’

Laurent felt icy dread fill his stomach.

The King stood and took hold of his shoulders. ‘I can’t let them take you away from me too.’

‘Auguste-’

‘The law is the only way,’ he said again. ‘Forgive me, brother. I have no choice.’

* * *

That was not the end of it.

There were further conversations between the brothers and still more once the council was notified of Laurent’s knowledge of the matter. He was questioned, prying, intrusive questions about things Laurent had never discussed with anyone before. The look on Auguste’s face when, stand-offish and flushed, he had confessed to the council that he’d never lain with anyone before, was inscrutable.

Auguste himself was inscrutable.

Laurent felt as if there were a snare around his neck and, like a rabbit thrashing and struggling in its attempts to free itself, he was only drawing it tighter and tighter. It occurred to him, in a quiet moment between monotonous and frustrating meetings, that he’d never questioned the circumstances of Lord Neven’s pet’s punishment.

Now, Laurent wondered.

Had the pet truly been brave or foolish enough to seek out a noblewoman and seduce her? Or had he been pressured by someone above his own status, unable to say no without risking a scandal, trapped by his own circumstance?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was Vere, voluptuous and decadent, country of honeyed poison.
> 
> \- Chapter 2, Captive Prince, C.S Pacat
> 
> 'Droit du premier-né' comes from 'droit du seigneur/jambage' or 'jus primae noctis' aka the right of the Lord or right of the first night. Featuring French as Veretian because why not.
> 
> I couldn't find a canonical account of the battle at Sanpelier in any of the three main books, so I chose to interpret that it that took place before Marlas when Vere was first trying to expel the Akielon army from Delpha.


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, it came down to a stalemate: Auguste could not willingly be parted from his brother and Laurent would not ask to be sent away.

The council cared little for the emotions behind the decision, only that one had been made, and preparations began in earnest.

‘There will be a public ceremony,’ Councillor Herode explained. ‘The court must bear witness to the claiming so there can be no dispute.’

The night before the ceremony, Laurent’s last night of freedom, he’d gone to Auguste’s chambers.

The King’s chambers were largely unchanged since they’d belonged to their father. Auguste had taken a different room as his bedchamber, choosing a balcony overlooking the rose gardens and adjoining access to the private baths over the larger, more formal room where their parents had once slept.

The two guards at the door had not spared Laurent a second glance when he slipped past them and there was no sign of any lingering servants. Auguste had always shown little patience for being dressed and fussed over by others, preferring to deal with such matters himself than tolerate the intrusive presence of strangers in his space. Their mother had sighed over such uncouth behaviour more than once and Auguste had joked that he had Laurent shadowing his every step as it was, anyone else at his heels and he’d be constantly tripping over.

Laurent found his brother seated at the desk in his room, gazing sightlessly out of the window. He’d shed his jacket and his shirt was unlaced, his hair mussed as though he’d been running his fingers through it - a sure sign that he was under significant stress. The door clicked shut behind Laurent but Auguste did not startle, nor did his attention waver from whatever it was fixed on out in the darkness.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘about leaving.’

Laurent stared. ‘What do you mean?’

Auguste finally turned to look at him and Laurent fought not to shrink back against the closed door. His eyes were glassy and distant, the low light in the room casting his face in shadow.

‘We could go to Acquitart. It’s been years since we last visited the keep. Would you like that?’ Auguste did not pause to wait for Laurent’s response. ‘We could play in the ruins again, like we used to.’ He laughed. ‘I suppose the charm will have worn off, now we’ve fought real Akielons.’

‘Why would we go to Acquitart?’ Laurent asked carefully.

‘You’re right, of course,’ Auguste tilted his head back to regard the beautifully painted ceiling. ‘That would be the first place they’d look. But we could ride north instead, into the forest, to the Steppes. There are tales, aren’t there? Of kings in hiding, playing at husbandry. We could keep sheep.’

‘Sheep?’ said Laurent.

‘Leave this rotting kingdom to crumble under the weight of its own wickedness and live a simple life.’

Laurent wondered if Auguste was drunk, he had never heard such talk from his brother before, never contemplated that he might hold such views, but there was no sign or smell of alcohol in the room. This unnerved him all the more, for Auguste to say such things sober was truly worrying.

'I'm not convinced I'd make a very good shepherd,' Auguste continued, lifting a shaky hand to rub at his temple. 'But I can't do a poorer job of it than I have at being King.'

Laurent pushed away from the doorframe and came to his side. ‘Auguste,’ he said quietly, ‘you’re scaring me.’

It was craven to admit such a thing but Laurent was afraid, not just of this odd mood that had taken over his brother but of what was to come, of everything they would have to endure in only a few hours time.

Auguste blinked at him and then all at once he seemed to come back to himself.

‘Come here,’ he said, pulling Laurent onto the chair with him. ‘I’m sorry.’

Auguste smelled of clean sweat from the practice yard and the oil he used in his hair and Laurent shuddered in his embrace, although his eyes remained dry. There had been a distance between them of late and the familiar comfort of his brother’s arms around him calmed him the way little else could.

‘Did you really think of running?’ he asked and Auguste sighed, brushing his knuckles over Laurent’s cheek.

‘We have a duty,’ he said heavily. ‘We have a duty to this country, and to each other. I won’t turn away from it.’

‘I won’t turn away from you,’ Laurent echoed and shut his eyes when Auguste drew him closer.

* * *

Laurent was excluded from the majority of the planning and Auguste had been kept busy with other matters of state, so it was only hours before the event itself that he learned what exactly the ceremony would entail. Some of the details he already knew from the accounts he’d read before and re-read once this appalling plan had been raised as a serious option.

_The pet shall relinquish all material possessions from their previous life. The pet shall be provided for at the King’s leisure. The pet shall never again hold lands, nor titles, nor shall they be permitted to marry, or have relations with any man unless the King demands it._

Aside from the first, those terms were not uncommon in many pet contracts. There were others, however, that far exceeded the restrictions placed on common pets.

_The pet shall publicly revoke all rights to the throne and submit to the will of the King before the court._

A public claiming, as Herode had explained.

In preparation for the ceremony Laurent had been bathed, massaged and oiled as the pets were before performances. He wore no paint and was given no clothes.

_The pet shall shed all vestments and be presented to the crown in their entirety._

It was not cold in the atrium where he was sent to wait but Laurent shivered anyway. He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his own home, the palace seemed newly hostile and unsafe. It was hopeless to try and cover himself from the servants who scurried around him but they were more than inured to nakedness regardless after years serving the nobles and their pets. He could hear noises from behind the screened doors, flickers of light and shadow fell across his face as people passed in front of them. The entire court was just on the other side and Laurent would have to walk a path through the middle of them to get to Auguste, close enough that they could reach out and touch him.

No-one raised a hand when the doors finally opened but the Laurent felt every glance that fell upon him as if it were a physical blow. He fixed his eyes directly ahead and would not be cowed as he took the first step into the hall. The entire scenario was utterly surreal. Laurent concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other but internally he wanted to scream, to shout, to turn and flee. What would they do? What could they do to him that would be worse than this, the scrutiny, the sadistic glee of the crowd watching as he was ripped from his pedestal and stripped to nothing before them.

The council was arranged before the throne in formal robes and Laurent came to a halt just before he reached them, fixing his gaze on a point over Herode's shoulders so he would not have to look them in the eye.

'Do you come willingly before the court to place yourself in the hands of the King?' asked Councillor Chelaut.

There was only one correct response to that question. 'I do.' 

'Step forward.'

There was a physician stood with the councilmen. Not Paschal, Laurent had not seen him in the crowd at all. When Laurent took his last step forward he came to stand before him.

_The pet must be marked before the court so all shall know his status._

The physician gestured his assistant to his side and took from him a wad of gauze soaked in alcohol which he swabbed over Laurent's chest. Then, from a roll of cloth, he produced a long, sharp needle. Laurent had been dreading this moment since he first heard of it. The physician’s fingers were cold and clinical when he pinched and rubbed at Laurent’s left nipple, already pebbled from the chill of the room. It felt strange, he wanted to pull away from the touch that sent confusing shivers down his spine.

The physician raised the needle, glinting in the low light, and said, ‘Do not move.’

It hurt. The deed itself seemed to stretch across many long minutes, the needle spearing slowly through his flesh until Laurent’s whole body sang with pain. Worse than the pain was the violation of the act, the nauseating pull of metal as a surprisingly heavy gold ring was slid into place and cleanly soldered shut. The permanence of it made panic rise in Laurent’s chest, reality set in as he considered that he’d never be able to remove the piercing himself.

He thought of the healer’s tent after Marlas, of Auguste’s face pale and strained as a field surgeon stitched him back together. His brother had not wept then, he’d gritted his teeth and borne it as a prince should. Laurent could do the same.

The second was worse. Still fuzzy from the adrenaline rush of the first, Laurent’s head swam and his eyes stung when the needle sank into him. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek but it wasn’t enough to distract from the sharp ache. The physician was faster with the ring this time, pushing it roughly after the needle, and Laurent swallowed back a gasp as he felt something tear. Once the second ring was fitted the physician wiped over Laurent’s chest with a white cloth that smelled sharply of herbs, it came away spotted with blood. Then he carefully turned each ring in place and that same queasy arousal stirred low in Laurent’s belly.

‘It’s done,’ the physician said and stepped away.

‘Turn and face the court,’ Councillor Herode spoke and Laurent reluctantly complied, exposing the new piercings and sending a ripple of murmurs through the courtiers. Herode spoke again, confirming that they could move to the next part of the ceremony, and Laurent turned back as quickly as he could, only to come face to face with his brother.

‘I would do anything to keep you safe,’ Auguste had told him before they’d parted that morning. ‘Trust that I will make this as painless as I can.’

There had already been pain and Laurent expected there was more to come but behind his detached officious mask, Auguste’s concern and love was clear. It showed in how his hand twitched at his side as Laurent ascended the dais to where the throne stood, wanting to reach for him, to shield him.

Laurent had not truly considered the mechanics of the act that would follow. Every time he tried his mind had shied away from it, unable to conceive of a reality where this must happen. Even now, on the threshold of it all, he somehow believed that he would not have to go through with it. Something would happen, some miracle, some loophole, some clever plot of his brother’s that would save him from this fate.

Nothing did.

Auguste’s hands were gentle as he lifted Laurent into his lap, smoothing over his sides and coming to rest on his narrow waist. Auguste was so much bigger than him. Laurent had always known this, of course, in an abstract fashion, but it felt very different when he was naked and vulnerable and spread across his brother’s thighs. That Auguste was still dressed, in his finest court regalia no less, only added to the imbalance. The richly embroidered fabric of his jacket scraped painfully against Laurent’s aching nipples when he leaned in close, ducking his head down against his shoulder to hide his flushed face.

Laurent could hear the shifting of bodies behind him, hyper-aware of the eyes that must be on him, exposed as he was even with his back turned to the room. Auguste’s touch was comforting and his breath was warm and sweet with wine when he leaned down to press his forehead to Laurent’s.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he promised and Laurent wanted to believe him.

‘Your Majesty,’ Councillor Chelaut spoke up, quailing when Auguste glared in his direction but pressing on regardless. ‘The ceremony rites state that we must see his face, to prevent deceit.’

Auguste’s hands tightened almost painfully before gentling again and Laurent knew his brother was thinking the same thing he himself was, how could there be any deception when the entire room had watched him walk naked past them?

Still, ‘Turn around,’ Auguste instructed Laurent and he had no choice but to obey, swallowing against the humiliation that burned in his chest when he wriggled about in a most undignified manner until he was facing the amassed courtiers again.

One of Auguste’s hands left his waist and Laurent shifted to keep his balance as the King untied his own laces, eyes lowered to the elaborate silk carpet lain out before the throne, tracing patterns mindlessly so he would not think about what was happening. Auguste drew him back against his chest, tilting his hips forward and pressing a fleeting kiss to his nape as the velvet heat of his erection brushed against the bare skin of Laurent’s lower back for the first time. Something primal in him recoiled at the sensation, an intimacy that was never supposed to be.

Traditionally the pet was allowed no preparation beforehand, Laurent had been brusquely oiled and stretched by a servant to enable this illusion, but Auguste was King and no-one spoke up to protest when he reached down to stroke his fingers over Laurent’s hole. It took all his strength of will not to flinch from the touch, to throw himself from his lap and run. Laurent dug his nails into his palms, grounding himself in the sharp sting as Auguste pressed slowly inside. His brother’s fingers were considerably thicker than the servant who’d attended him and Laurent winced, the stretch when Auguste slid a second alongside the first making him gasp.

‘Relax,’ Auguste coaxed quietly, rubbing gently at Laurent’s rim with his thumb. ‘Open up for me.’

Laurent had never touched himself there. He knew it was done, of course. He’d seen it. But he’d never dared try. The slow assault of Auguste’s fingers was overwhelming, working him open in a steady, inexorable slide of pressure. That was all it was few a few, long minutes and then Auguste altered the angle, a slight twisting movement, and a sharp bolt of _something_ coursed through Laurent like lightning.

‘There you are,’ Auguste murmured, his other hand pressing firmly over the curve of Laurent’s stomach. ‘Just like that, you’re doing beautifully.’

Laurent felt as if he was standing too close to a roaring fire, his cheeks scorched, air hot in his lungs. His hips ached, stretched wide as they were, and he was all but split open on Auguste’s fingers. How could he survive what was to come when this alone felt like dying? He shivered, skin prickling all over, nipples throbbing painfully as they tightened. His head swam and a desperate noise tore from his throat when Auguste scissored his fingers slowly as he pulled out, then came back with three.

The courtiers stirred at the sound. Laurent had almost forgotten they were there and he blinked at them through teary eyes. He was hard, he realised. It seemed unthinkable, this wasn’t like when he rutted slowly against his sheets in the privacy of his bedchamber, the pleasure building slow and sweet inside him. Auguste twisted his fingers again and Laurent moaned, his mouth hanging open as he panted for air with his cock swollen and full between his legs.

‘I think you’re ready,’ Auguste said in a low voice. ‘Come on now, up we go.’

Those were the same words he used to say when he helped Laurent onto the saddle of his first pony and the cognitive dissonance was jarring as Auguste urged Laurent to brace his heels against the wide wooden seat of the throne. Laurent’s thighs shook with the effort of holding himself up, he clutched at the carved arms of the chair until he thought his fingers would break.

Nauseous heat rushed through Laurent’s whole body as he felt the wet, blunt head of his brother’s cock nudging at his tender hole. Auguste had one hand on his waist supporting his weight and with the other he spread Laurent open, pressing against him.

‘Slowly,’ Auguste murmured, ‘sink down, nice and easy.’

Laurent tried. He truly did, but even with just the tip he felt stretched further than he could take. It wouldn’t fit, there was no way- but Auguste’s hand at his waist pressed him down, he couldn’t fight it balanced unsteadily as he was, and gradually, then suddenly, he pushed past the tight ring of muscle.

‘That’s it, just a little more,’ said Auguste and Laurent wanted to cry at the thought of _more_.

‘It’s too big,’ his voice broke on the word and he wanted to beg for this to be over, to please let it end. ‘Auguste, it hurts.’

‘Hush,’ Auguste soothed, ‘I know it hurts, I know, but you must brave.’

Laurent wanted so badly to be brave, to be strong, to not let his brother down or make this harder than it already had to be, but he could feel them all watching him. From the back of the hall someone muffled a laugh and Laurent thought he might honestly die of shame. He gritted his teeth and tried to force himself to relax, rocking down cautiously, but it felt like impaling himself on a fencepost.

‘I can’t,’ he sobbed, ‘it’s too much, it’s too- I _can’t_ -’

‘Yes, you can,’ said Auguste, nosing at the soft hair behind his ear. ‘You can take it, I know you can.’

‘No.’ Once the word passed his lips Laurent couldn’t stop the flood of protestations that had built inside him. ‘No, _please_ , no.’

‘You have to, Laurent. I’m sorry.’

Auguste had been holding himself still as stone beneath him, the muscles in his thighs tense as iron, but now he moved. He slid his arms under Laurent’s thighs and lifted, setting his hands beneath his knees so that he held all of Laurent’s weight, and his own grip on the throne offered no manoeuvrability. The new position held Laurent splayed open even further before the gathered nobles and his face burned as Auguste adjusted him until he was leaning back against his chest. Then, with Laurent completely at his mercy, he began to push.

The press of his brother’s cock inside him hurt more than anything Laurent had ever experienced. Auguste was even thicker in the middle and the ache of it drove him near out of his mind. It seemed like hours before he was finally seated all the way in, and Laurent was so full he felt paralysed by it, as though if he moved at all he would fly apart at the seams. He barely had a moment to breathe before Auguste lifted him again and rocked his hips.

Laurent felt each thrust in his throat. It was as though he were being reshaped, moulded into something new, never the same for having been taken this way. It _burned_. Auguste shifted his hold and on the next stroke he brushed against that place inside Laurent that sent a wave of sickening pleasure through him. Laurent couldn’t hold back the whine he made and Auguste must have heard because he did it again, and again, and again, until Laurent was mindless with sensation. He’d grown soft from the pain of trying to take Auguste but now, as his brother fucked into him relentlessly, Laurent’s cock filled and before long he was embarrassingly hard.

There was no time to adjust, no chance to catch his breath and quiet the panting whimpers forced past his lips every time Auguste drove into him. Laurent had no leverage to ease the pace, barely any freedom to writhe against his brother’s grip. Auguste sped up and the obscene sound of skin on skin blending with his own desperate moans made Laurent’s face flush, knowing people could _hear_ him-

‘Shh,’ Auguste was barely breathing hard but his voice was tighter than before. ‘It’s alright. You’re being so good for me.'

Laurent’s head spun. He couldn’t tell if it was worse when Auguste spoke and reminded him of who was fucking him or better for what small consolation it offered.

‘Here,’ Auguste eased his legs even further apart and rested Laurent’s right foot on the arm of the throne. ‘Keep that there.’ He moved his free hand back to Laurent’s abdomen and the next time he thrust in he pressed down hard and Laurent’s vision went dark at the edges, a hoarse cry escaped his mouth. ‘Does that feel good?’ Auguste mouthed at the thin skin of his neck, his tongue searing when he licked away a bead of sweat. ‘It’s nearly over now, just a little more.’ He eased the pressure and reached for Laurent’s cock instead, palming it roughly and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive slit.

Laurent was lost. His orgasm was wrenched from a place deep within him, the intensity of it leaving him wrung out, too dazed to know if it was pleasure or pain coursing through him.

Auguste didn’t slow for a moment, fucking him through the aftershocks. Laurent let his head fall back to rest against Auguste’s shoulder as his brother took him hard and fast. When he lifted his hand, still wet with Laurent’s come, and skimmed it up over his chest it caught on the delicate gold ring piercing Laurent’s right nipple. The pain made him jump and tighten around Auguste and it was that which tipped him over the edge- he ground his hips up until it hurt and Laurent felt the hot splash of come inside him.

It was over. Laurent’s eyes fluttered closed and he wished that all things had ended in that moment with his brother’s pleasure. He wanted to float away, out of the hall, over the gardens and up into the sky. He wanted to slip into darkness and sleep. He wanted never to wake up.

Someone was speaking and the courtiers were grumbling. Laurent hoped they’d leave before he did, that he wouldn’t have to walk through their midst with evidence of the claiming spilling down his thighs.

What followed was worse.

Auguste lifted him easily. His cock slid free leaving Laurent feeling raw and empty, a sensation that only intensified when Auguste spread him open so the whole court could see proof of the consummation. Laurent squirmed at the exposure, his skin burning hot with renewed humiliation when the tips of Auguste’s fingers slipped into his fucked out hole, coaxing the loosened ring of muscle wider until he could feel his brother’s come leaking out of him.

He thought that would be the end of it but then Auguste began to carefully and methodically scoop the spilled fluids up with his fingers and press them back inside. The gentle way he touched Laurent was somehow more distressing than anything that had come before and he was glad when Auguste moved his hands away, only to startle when he felt something hard and cold press against his sore entrance.

‘You have to keep it in,’ Auguste explained quietly as he worked the solid metal plug into him. It was nearly as thick as Auguste’s cock had felt and when the heavy bulb of it pressed against Laurent’s oversensitive prostate he flinched, clenching down instinctively which only made the pressure worse.

‘You did so well, little brother,’ Auguste soothed, stroking his fingers through Laurent’s sweat tangled hair. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

As Councillor Herode spoke the words that revoked his status as a prince and named him a pet, Laurent hid his face against Auguste’s neck and finally let himself cry.

* * *

 After the ceremony, Laurent moved into the King’s chambers.

There may have been an adjoining bedroom meant for him but after the first night when Auguste had cleaned him up, carefully and thoroughly as Laurent clung to him and eventually tucked him into his own bed, wrapped around him like he meant to keep him safe from the outside world, Laurent rarely slept alone.

He spent the day following the ceremony in a feverish daze, slipping in and out of sleep, shivering beneath the soft sheets of Auguste’s bed. He hurt, in his body and somewhere deeper - an unseen wound that thrummed in time with his heartbeat, a pain that only eased when his brother was close. He remembered being very young and sick with ague, the gentle weight of his mother’s hand on his forehead as she sang him Kemptian lullabies, Auguste curled against his back while he sweated through his clothes but still cried out insisting he was cold.

Their mother was dead, Laurent thought in a quiet moment of clarity. Their family was all gone now. Only Laurent and Auguste were left, alone in the world. Whatever they had to do to stay together, it was worth it.

Laurent hid in Auguste’s chambers for almost a week. Auguste arranged for his things to be moved there, his books and personal possessions. But not his clothes. It took Laurent a day or two to realise, he’d barely left the bed and was wearing one of his brother’s nightshirts. He mentioned it to Auguste in the morning before he left for a meeting and was assured the situation would be remedied.

That afternoon, while Laurent was still in bed reading, several servants arrived laden down with fabric. Laurent startled when they entered the rooms without warning, ignoring his presence and setting down their burdens on the chaise beneath the window. It was his new wardrobe. His old clothes were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were armfuls of beautiful Kemptian silks and satins. A hinged silver box lined with velvet revealed a wealth of jewels and fragile body chains, while another of stained wood held pots of paint and fine brushes.

Laurent shut the box with a snap and went back to his book.

Auguste looked exhausted when he finally arrived back in their chambers that evening.

‘You’ll have to show your face sometime soon,’ he warned Laurent, throwing a stack of papers down on his desk. ‘The court talks of nothing else. You’d think I’d murdered you the way they fritter about, so keen to express their concerns.’ He shrugged out of his formal coat and draped it over the arm of a chair. ‘Help me with my laces, would you?’

Laurent acquiesced in silence and after a moment Auguste seemed to notice his mood.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘The clothes,’ said Laurent, his hands stilling on his brother's shirt cuff. ‘Auguste, I can’t wear them.’

Auguste frowned. ‘Do they not fit?’ he asked, giving Laurent’s figure a speculative look. ‘They were based on your most recent measurements.’

Laurent crossed the room and held up a slip of pale blue silk embroidered with gold on one finger. Gauzy and sheer, it would conceal nothing. ‘You expect me to wear this in public?’

‘Vicenç assures me that’s the finest fabric available this side of the Ellosean sea.’ Auguste rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hand and Laurent felt a brief pang of guilt for troubling his brother with this after what had clearly been a challenging day. That feeling didn’t last, however, once Auguste followed it up by saying, ‘If you don’t like them you can always go naked like the Akielons do.’

Laurent flung the silk aside and it drifted to the floor. ‘You cannot expect this of me. I am your brother, I am a prince!’

‘Oh, Laurent,’ Auguste looked so sad then that it made Laurent’s throat tighten. ‘No, you’re not. Not anymore.’ He sighed. ‘This is my fault. If I’d been clearer from the start things would have been easier.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your performance reflects on me, just like any other pet. If they think I can’t take care of you, my own brother, they’ll lose faith in me. If you do a poor job obeying, they’ll think you aren’t loyal to me. If you don’t know what you’re doing, they’ll think I can’t handle you.’

‘So you do mean to treat me like a common pet,’ Laurent's voice was heavy with accusation, ‘despite what you promised.’

Auguste shook his head. ‘You chose this, little brother. I gave you the chance to leave and you refused. It’s too late to go back on your word now. We need to establish some rules. It will be easier going forward if the lines are clear from the start.’

Laurent clenched his fingers in his nightshirt to hide the way they shook. ‘What kind of rules?’

Auguste regarded him from under heavy lids. ‘Don't worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll start slow.’

 _Slow_ apparently meant kneeling on a cushion at Auguste’s side while he finished going over the documents he’d brought back to his chambers. Any time Laurent shifted his weight or slumped forward or sighed, his brother would stroke a hand through his hair and offer some small encouragement. It was patronising, and yet in many ways it felt no different to any of the lessons Auguste had taught him throughout his life. How to whistle loud enough to call the hounds, how to hold his arm out for hawking, how to jump a fence or hold a sword. The familiarity frustrated and soothed him in equal degrees.

He still balked when a servant brought a late supper to their rooms and Auguste expected to feed it to him.

‘If you want to eat in public, you’ll have to eat from my hand. The days will be very long indeed if you resign yourself to go without.’

Laurent glared at him, arms folded.

‘Please, Laurent,’ Auguste said, offering him a piece of honeyed fruit. ‘For me?’

He was hungry, was the truth of the matter. And Auguste was telling the truth, all pets took food from their patrons that way at some time or another. At first Laurent tried to take the fruit without touching Auguste at all and it fell, leaving a streak of stickiness down the front of his shirt.

‘Must you make a mess?’ Auguste laughed. ‘You can’t get out of this by being slovenly.’

‘Sorry.’ Laurent flushed and he took the next piece with more care. It was a strange sensation, the callused skin of Auguste’s fingers against the softness of his lips, the slight salt of his skin contrasting with the sweetness of the fruit.

‘So fussy,’ Auguste wiped a trace of honey from Laurent’s lower lip with his thumb. ‘You were like this as a child too, only wanted sugared things. Wouldn’t take your dinner from the nursemaid, Mother or I had to feed you.’

It was amazing how such a casual reference to their lives together before this could make Laurent feel utterly defenceless and at the same time uneasy. Auguste was treating him as if nothing had changed and Laurent knew he was supposed to respond in kind, but how could he when everything was different now? It seemed like Auguste barely thought of the ceremony at all, he’d not mentioned it since.

It was all Laurent could think about.

Auguste fed him a perfectly ripe date, crisp slices of apple, a handful of grapes, and Laurent took them all until he caught himself mouthing juice from his brother’s fingertips and cringed away.

‘There,’ said Auguste, licking a trace of honey from those same fingers. ‘That wasn’t so terrible, was it?’

Laurent couldn’t answer.

‘That’s enough for today, I think. Let’s go to bed.’

When he stood from the cushion Laurent’s muscles protested, cramping from sitting so long in one position.

‘You’ll grow accustomed to it,’ Auguste promised as he stripped down to his smallclothes. ‘Soak in a hot bath with salts tomorrow morning and it will ease the strain. And don’t wear that shirt to bed, it’s dirty.’ Laurent froze in place with one knee on the mattress. ‘Just take it off, I don’t want honey on the sheets.’

Laurent hesitated for a moment, then shrugged out of the nightshirt. It wasn’t as if Auguste hadn’t seen him naked before, he thought, slipping under the covers. The whole court had.

The next morning Laurent woke alone. He ate a small breakfast, soaked as instructed in the King’s personal baths, and only then discovered that Auguste’s armoire was locked - he could not avail himself of another nightshirt.

There was a scrap of paper on the desk that read, in his brother’s handwriting: _silks or nothing, it’s your choice._

Not much of a choice. Laurent crumpled the note, tossed it in the fire grate and got back into bed. He must have dozed off because the sun shining through the carved window shutters indicated it was late afternoon when he stirred next.

Auguste was sat on the bed beside him. ‘Wilful brat,’ he said, not without fondness when he noted Laurent’s state of undress.

‘I hate them,’ Laurent mumbled, hiding his face in the pillows.

‘Will you go naked through the palace then?’ Auguste asked, combing his fingers through Laurent’s tangled hair. ‘Ride unclothed at my side when we go hunting? I shall have to commission you a more comfortable saddle.’

Laurent made a disgruntled sound and Auguste sighed. ‘Think of it like this,’ he said. ‘It’s all a performance, is it not?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, we’re showing the court and the people of Vere that I am a good king and you are not a threat.’ He smiled. ‘More fool them.’

Laurent rolled onto his back so he could look Auguste in the face. ‘You are a good king.’

‘You have more faith in me than some,’ his brother’s smile faltered. ‘They have to believe it, or things will go badly for both of us. These clothes, the paint, the ceremony, all of it is a farce for them. Think of it as a costume, if you must, but Laurent- we must be convincing. If you hate the clothes because they are pet’s clothes, pretend you are a pet. Play the part as well as you can.’

It made a kind of sense. It wasn’t that different from how Laurent had been first taught to behave in court, to pretend at being regal and high-minded even if he’d rather be lazing around in a dusty library or brushing down horses in a mucky stall.

‘Attend me at dinner tonight,’ Auguste coaxed. ‘All you have to do is sit and eat something and then come back here to bed. The court can rest easy knowing I’ve not buried you in the rose gardens and the council will leave me be for a day or two so I can finally get some work done.’

Phrased like that there was no way he could refuse.

‘Are they really talking about me?’ Laurent asked, disturbed at the thought that his poor public performance was being bandied about the court.

Auguste stood with a dismissive snort. ‘They’re gossip hounds, you know how it is. If you act as though there’s nothing remarkable happening, nothing has changed, they’ll grow bored and move on to something new.’

Laurent hummed, skimming his hands nervously across the bedclothes.

‘I’ll send someone to help you dress,’ Auguste said, crossing the room to retrieve the book he’d come to fetch. ‘Don’t worry, Laurent. It won’t be as bad as you think.’

Auguste did send a servant to dress Laurent for dinner. A retired pet, Laurent wagered by the way he spoke and conducted himself.

Cesco, as he introduced himself, went into paroxysms of delight at Laurent’s array of silks. They were gorgeous pieces, even Laurent could admit that, not that it made him any more eager to model them. For his first appearance at court as a pet Laurent had hoped to be as subdued and unremarkable as possible. Cesco was horrified at such a suggestion. He sifted through the pile of damask, samite, and tulle garments, casting aside some, holding others up to the light to admire their ornamentation.

‘No blue,’ Cesco said. ‘I can see why there is so much, it flatters your complexion and your eyes. But the King’s colour is red and you are his Majesty’s pet. It would send the wrong message.’

Draped in scarlet silks, a coronet of garnets woven into his hair, gold bracelets around his upper arms and a chain of gold strung with rubies at his waist, Laurent barely recognised himself. Then there was the paint. He resolved to teach himself how to apply it as quickly as possible so as not to have to suffer the attentions of an overzealous servant with a penchant for gaudiness.

It did feel like a costume, and indeed Auguste seemed to do a double take when he returned to change for dinner.

‘Well,’ he said, sounding faintly stunned. ‘Look at you.’

‘You were right,’ said Laurent, plucking at the low slung waist of his silks. ‘It is easier to pretend like this.’

‘It suits you well,’ Auguste smiled, ‘although I prefer you in blue.’ Laurent forced himself to return the smile despite how uncomfortable he felt. The paint itched cloyingly on his skin and while the silks were soft to the touch they clung in revealing ways no matter how he arranged himself.

Laurent wasn’t sure what to expect, debuting before the court. There was a hush when he first entered at Auguste’s side, followed immediately by a wave of sound as pets and nobility and servants alike expressed their surprise and their judgement.

Auguste made no acknowledgement that this night was any different to another and Laurent could have wept with gratitude. The courtiers followed suit, as expected, and despite watching him like over-dressed hawks they left Laurent to his own devices, not trying to engage him in conversation or goad him into acting any way other than Auguste had explained he should.

Laurent sat quietly beside the King, poured his drinks, brought him a platter of the sweetmeats he liked best and allowed himself to be hand fed.

It was strange and more difficult than he had expected, in all the ways he’d known to predict and others he hadn’t imagined. Being in the great hall again brought back memories Laurent didn’t care to linger on and he was hesitant to lean against the throne itself, kneeling instead beside it on a cushion with his hands folded. The longer he sat there, the easier it became. It was as though he went away somewhere inside his head, the courtiers were all behind glass, a smeary oil painting impression. Nothing was real because the performance was not real.

Auguste rested a hand on the nape of his neck and Laurent drifted into stillness.

He barely remembered the walk back to their rooms, it wasn’t until Auguste spoke that he blinked, dazed, and came back to himself.

‘You were wonderful tonight.’

The praise was heady as sweet wine for all that it settled like acid in Laurent’s stomach.

‘I didn’t like it.’

He hadn’t known he was going to admit such a thing but the words slipped out past numbed lips. He turned away, feeling foolish, and began to undress, scratching at his skin in his hurry to get all the heavy jewellery off.

Auguste sighed and came to stand behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders. ‘I hate to think I’m doing anything that hurts you, Laurent,’ he said. ‘I will do what I can to keep the court preoccupied. Hopefully you won’t have to suffer through many more public appearances.’

Laurent ducked away from his brother's touch and made for the baths. As he scrubbed himself clean of paint, rubbing at his cheeks and chest until the skin there was reddened and sore, he hoped that this time Auguste was telling the truth.


	3. Chapter 3

Auguste kept his word. Laurent was mostly left alone during the day and only went out into the palace when Auguste was holding court. He still had Laurent kneel and eat by hand in the evenings they spent alone in their chambers. It was good practice, Auguste claimed, it would be easier to avoid future mistakes if they maintained the facade in private.

Laurent had been advised against wandering the palace alone. He had no household of his own, although Auguste’s personal guards were assigned to him they spent most of their time with the king. And besides, Laurent wanted to avoid contact with the nobility as much as possible, more so now that he only had pet clothes to wear.

Nevertheless, the situation wore on him as the days went on. He could not walk alone in the gardens, could not visit the library, or the stables, or the kitchens as he’d liked to do before. Auguste had anything he asked for brought to their chambers, books, sweets, cut flowers, but it wasn't the same.

Laurent was lonely. He’d seen less of his brother than ever before since they’d begun sharing their rooms, although that shouldn’t have been possible. Auguste was preoccupied and Laurent didn't like to bother him while he was working, but sitting in silence at his knee was not the same as holding conversations or sharing stories about their days, as had been the norm once. He found himself looking forward to the smallest moments of companionship, the fleeting physical contact when Auguste fed him treats from his plate.

On the day he realised he’d not seen anyone besides the servants, who wouldn’t speak to him, or his brother in the brief moments before he fell asleep, in over a week, Laurent finally spoke up.

Auguste had not taken it well.

‘I have to resolve the skirmishes on the Vaskian border before the ambassador for Kempt arrives next month, entertain him as though his country’s betrayal didn’t almost cost us our own, deal with Theomedes and his fucking Kyroi writing me missives that address me like I’m some green fool-child instead of a king in my own right, meet with that snake Guion and the rest of his merry band of council idiots, spend every spare waking minute I’m not going over budgets and trade agreements and pleas from our people making nice with courtiers who wouldn’t hesitate to strangle their firstborns if they thought it would win my favour but would line up to spit on my corpse the second I was deposed, and you come to me and tell me you’re bored?’

The worst of it was that Auguste didn’t even sound angry, just tired and exasperated.

‘I don’t know what you want from me, little brother. I’ve been doing my best to shield you from the court, as you requested. I can’t take time away from my duties to entertain you and you won’t accompany me while I work. You can’t have it both ways.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Laurent’s eyes prickled with shamed tears. Nothing could bring him low like Auguste’s disappointment.

Auguste sighed and cupped Laurent’s face in his hands. ‘You know I’d be happy to have you at my side every moment of every day if I could, but you said you didn’t want that. Have you changed your mind?’

Laurent leaned into the touch, hungry for the way it settled him in his skin. He didn’t want to go out among the courtiers, didn’t want to be stared at, mocked and ridiculed. But was that really worse than being left alone? At Auguste’s side, he’d be safe. No-one could touch him but the King, and the King _would_ touch him, would keep him close, let him trail along behind him as he always had.

‘Yes,’ said Laurent. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

* * *

Laurent was disturbed at the ease with which he fell into certain aspects of his new role. He already followed Auguste’s lead, looked to him for guidance and instruction, wanted to please him. He hated being exposed before the court, hated the clothes and the paint and the way they all stared, but it grew easier with time to slip into the quiet space inside his mind where he could exist without thought, serve without shame.

The downside of this was that it wasn’t always easy to keep things straight in his head. The first time he slipped and called Auguste ‘your Majesty’ in private, Auguste had looked hurt. ‘I am still your brother, Laurent,’ he’d said, and Laurent tried to remember to refer to him that way when they were alone but it blurred things between them. He found it harder to keep the line clear between Laurent, pet of the King, and Laurent, Auguste’s beloved baby brother.

If nothing else, Auguste seemed to appreciate his presence. The court noted that the King’s mood was greatly improved when his pet was at his side. He was more affable, calmer, less prone to irritation. Laurent himself saw the improvement in his brother’s countenance and was happy that he was at least doing something right.

The court performances still unnerved him. To his dismay Laurent had found that it was impossible not to imagine himself in the place of whatever pet was in the ring, remembering how it felt when all eyes were on him, the humiliation blending with forced arousal. Thoughts bubbled up unwanted in his mind no matter how he tried to think of anything else. He’d watch a lovely dark-haired pet pinned down and fucked 'til they sobbed and pleaded and, although the act disgusted him, he couldn’t help but picture himself in their place, to imagine Auguste holding him down like that, in front of all these people, making him take it.

There was something wrong with him, something broken. Laurent couldn’t know if it had been there before the ceremony or if that had awoken it within him, but he knew he could never, ever let his brother know. Auguste had not tried to touch him again since that day and although sometimes Laurent had to keep himself from flinching at what he’d previously considered ordinary, benign physical contact, he knew these thoughts were only in his own head.

To distract himself, Laurent had taken to watching the pets from the corner of his eye whenever he was in public. He tracked their every move, the way they spoke to their patrons, the way they spoke to one another, the services they offered: from throwaway gestures to explicit favours. It was easier to learn by observing than by asking, not that he’d had much of an opportunity yet to be alone with any of them, nor would he jump at the chance if it arose.

Along with observing the pets, Laurent had been practicing applying his own paint.

Auguste was generously complimentary about his attempts, even when Laurent knew he looked utterly ridiculous. His brother seemed to appreciate how the paint brought out his features, darkening his eyes and rouging his lips. It raised an uncertain question in Laurent’s mind.

One evening when he’d finally perfected lining his eyes with kohl, he found the courage to ask Auguste if, before he’d been crowned and things had become so complicated, he had wanted a wife. Auguste was virtuous and true, he’d never be so low as to seduce a woman he wasn’t married to, but Laurent had seen his eyes stray during performances, lingering on the curves of a particularly pretty pet. He knew his brother was attracted to women.

Auguste seemed surprised by the question and didn’t spare it much thought before he answered.

‘Not if it cost me you,’ he reassured Laurent, and then with a teasing smile, ‘I’d rather have you than a thousand wives.’

A week or so later Auguste was in a good mood after a successful hunt and the feast that followed. A little drunk, laughing more than Laurent had seen him do for a while, he slung a fraternal arm across Laurent’s shoulders as they wound their way back to their chambers and, once inside, poured himself another glass of wine. Together they lounged on the low divan before the open window, talking companionably about the nobles who’d been in attendance that evening.

It felt like things used to, before, and perhaps it was this easiness that made Laurent ask, ‘What was Lord Loïc’s pet doing tonight during the performance?’

Auguste glanced over at him, the moonlight softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and gave him a strange look. ‘I know you’ve seen pets sucking people before.’

‘The earlier part, though.’ Laurent felt his cheeks heat up but he was curious and while Auguste might tease, he wouldn’t judge. ‘He was just kneeling, not moving. With it in his mouth.’

‘Oh,’ Auguste turned sideways in his seat to face him. ‘You mean holding the sword. The lower classes call it cockwarming, I believe.’

‘What,’ Laurent’s throat was dry when he spoke. ‘What is the purpose?’

Auguste rolled his shoulders. ‘It is a service, the same as any other. Sometimes a man prefers to build slowly towards pleasure. Some pets enjoy the intimacy of the act. It’s very common at court, sometimes even in meetings. I’m surprised you’ve not seen it done before.’

For many years Laurent had never had any reason to pay much mind to what the pets were doing for their patrons. In fact, he went out of his way to observe as little as possible of what took place at court.

‘I had intended to wait a while,’ Auguste continued contemplatively, ‘but since you brought it up… that is something that will be expected of you, as the King’s pet. It’s as good a place to start as any.’

Laurent abruptly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. ‘You, you want me to-’

‘I'm not expecting you to swallow the whole thing on your first try,’ Auguste said with a tipsy grin. ‘We’ll work up to that.’

‘I don’t-’

Auguste stood from the seat and stretched. ‘This part will be easy, you more or less just have to sit still. Come, let’s take a bath and I’ll show you.’

Auguste was a born leader, he wore kingly entitlement with the sort of ease common people wore trousers. Laurent’s whole life he’d witnessed people falling willingly under the spell of his brother’s bright smile and golden aura, and he knew he was not immune. While there was no-one in his life more protective than Auguste, his brother had always known exactly how to get Laurent to do something he wasn’t sure he could. Whether it was galloping a horse across questionable terrain, sneaking out of a boring state dinner, or this, some things did not change.

So it was Laurent found himself helping his brother unlace his clothes when his slightly drunken fingers fumbled, stripping his own silks away and sliding into the steaming bath.

He watched as Auguste washed himself, using a piece of sponge from a silver dish to cleanse the dirt of the day away. His brother was built like a soldier, broad shouldered with strong arms. Laurent had been told that he would catch up, he’d hit a growth spurt eventually and then he’d look more like Auguste. It hadn't happened. Even now he was built along the same lines as their mother had been, more of an equestrian than a warrior.

Laurent’s eyes lingered on the scar across Auguste’s chest, still dark and angry at the edges. The wound that had almost cost him his life, on the day that had changed everything. Auguste ducked under the water to rinse clean and Laurent looked away, busying himself with sorting through the various jewelled bottles lining the edge of the bath. They reminded him of his paints and he frowned, picking at the flaking gold that curled beneath his clavicles.

Auguste surfaced and shook water out of his hair with a grin, a favourite trick he’d used often when they used to ride out to the lake to swim. Laurent rolled his eyes, he’d not sink to his brother’s level.

The King’s bath was much smaller than the public one but twice as lavish. The bath itself sloped downwards, with a seat in the middle for reclining. Auguste waded into the deeper end and then, showing off, hoisted himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the bath.

‘Come over here,’ he said, flicking his wet hair out of his eyes and leaning back on his hands.

For just a brief moment Laurent had forgotten what they were there to do.

Laurent came to stand between the spread of his legs, the water lapping around his waist glittering gold with flakes of paint. Face to face with his brother’s cock, even soft as it was against his thigh, Laurent felt cold fear rising within him.

‘Come on, little brother,’ Auguste nudged him in the ribs with his foot. ‘It won’t bite you. Ah, biting. That’s something you must avoid at all costs, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

Auguste reached out and drew Laurent forward, cupping his jaw in one hand and running the fingers of the other over his mouth. It was second nature now to open for him when he did that and Laurent tried not to startle when Auguste slipped two fingers past his lips to rest on his tongue.

‘Suck,’ said Auguste, ‘gently though, and mind your teeth.’

He tasted of clean skin and a trace of rose from the scented water, Laurent could feel the whorls of his fingertips and the rough calluses built from years of wielding a sword. He reminded himself that this was not the closest intimacy they’d shared, tried to convince himself that it was only slightly more than when Auguste hand fed him. But thoughts like those only brought to mind where else those fingers had been and Laurent closed his eyes quickly so he would not have to look at his brother while he blushed.

‘A little more,’ Auguste said and stroked back and forth lightly, pulling down on Laurent’s full lower lip. ‘Use your tongue.’

After a minute or two of this Auguste slid his fingers free. ‘Good,’ he said with a smile. ‘Do just that and you’ll be fine.’ With one hand on the back of Laurent’s neck, he urged him downwards. Auguste was well endowed, Laurent had been well acquainted with every inch of him. He hesitated to reach out and touch him. Before, during the claiming, he hadn’t had to participate besides submitting to what happened. This felt like more, somehow.

Auguste seemed to sense the reason for his reluctance and aided him by taking himself in hand, thumbing Laurent’s mouth open with his other, and guiding him down.

‘Now comes the simple part,’ he said as he slid into the wet heat of Laurent’s mouth. ‘No work involved, just stay still.’

Laurent concentrated on breathing steadily through his nose, eyes unfocused and hovering around Auguste’s middle. There was a buzzing in his ears echoing from a source he couldn’t place and a faint taste of salt on his tongue. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He couldn’t tell how long it had been but Auguste’s cock was filling rapidly, forcing his mouth wider. Auguste’s hips twitched and the thick heft of it slid over Laurent’s tongue, pressing at the back of his throat.

‘Ah, forgive me,’ Auguste’s cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the bath. ‘It’s the wine.’ He curled his fingers through Laurent’s hair, his other hand still holding his head steady, thumb stroking over his cheek.

With his lips stretched open it was hard not to drool. Laurent swallowed awkwardly, tongue pressing against the length of Auguste’s erection, and he groaned.

‘You’re making this difficult for me, Laurent,’ he said, rocking his hips in a barely perceptible rhythm. ‘Always getting ahead of yourself.’ Auguste’s voice was fond and teasing. ‘Suck a little, like before.’

Laurent obeyed. What else could he do? Auguste pulled gently, then harder, on his hair and sped his movements until he was thrusting into Laurent’s mouth.

‘You’re very good at this,’ Auguste said, his cock bumping against Laurent’s soft palette, and the praise warmed him like standing in summer sunshine. ‘Relax your throat for me, there’s a good boy.’

Laurent wasn’t sure what he meant by that and when Auguste pushed his head down, thrusting harder into his mouth until the head of his cock nudged against the back of his throat again, he coughed and gagged.

‘Easy,’ Auguste soothed, pulling back. ‘You can take it, just relax.’

Laurent wasn’t sure that he could. Auguste’s cock seemed huge in his mouth, every time he thrust it brought tears to his eyes and he felt as though he couldn’t breathe. He was drooling now, to his shame, he could feel it spilling down his chin. He tried to swallow again, just as Auguste pushed harder, and all at once the heavy length of him slipped deep into his throat.

‘There,’ Auguste’s voice was low and rasping, ‘just like that, I knew you could do it.’ He rolled his hips and Laurent gagged again, throat constricting around his brother’s cock as he swallowed. ‘That’s good, Laurent. You feel so good.’

Auguste tightened his grip on Laurent’s hair and guided his head up until his cock slipped free and Laurent could catch a gasping breath, only to shove him roughly back down again.

Auguste fucked his throat in lazy thrusts, praising Laurent further when he figured out that if he took control of the rhythm it was easier to breathe. ‘You’re a natural,’ he smiled when Laurent glanced up at him with teary eyes.

Laurent’s head swam, he wasn’t getting enough air and the fist tugging at his hair hurt almost as much as the pressure in his throat. Auguste sped up, fucking his mouth harder, and just when Laurent thought he might have to step away he pulled out and spilled messily across Laurent’s cheeks, come splattering hot and stinging across the bridge of his nose and into his open mouth.

‘Perfect,’ said Auguste breathlessly, letting go of Laurent’s hair to smear his fingers through the mess and slip them back past his lips. The taste was salty and strange and Laurent swallowed quickly to clear it from his tongue.

Auguste laughed once he’d caught his breath,‘We got a bit carried away there, didn’t we?’ He rinsed his hand clean in the bath and pushed loose, damp strands of hair away from his face. ‘Still, it’s good practice.’

Laurent’s throat hurt and when he spoke his voice was wrecked. ‘Do I really have to do that in front of people?’

Auguste sighed heavily, picking a soft cloth from the side of the bath and dipping it into the warm water. ‘Things are complicated at the moment,’ he said, wiping Laurent’s face clean. ‘I haven’t mentioned it because I didn’t want to worry you but the courtiers favourite subject for seditious gossip is still your loyalty to the crown.’

‘Still?’ Laurent asked. ‘Even after-’

‘They’re not convinced you aren’t just waiting for a chance to run me through when my back is turned, and the longer I let them go on thinking you’re a potential threat I’m blind to, the less they trust me to do my duty. Ruling a country is difficult enough as it is, I don’t need a civil war breaking out because the King’s pet won’t perform a basic service.’

Laurent felt terrible. He’d had no idea Auguste’s position was so precarious. Hadn’t he sworn to do whatever it took to stay by his brother’s side, to protect him as best he could?

‘I’m sorry,’ he said and Auguste pressed a kiss to his forehead.

‘Don’t fret, we’ll be alright. I just need you to work with me on this.’

‘I will, I promise.’

Auguste lifted the cloth to wipe the smeared paint from beneath his eyes and then moved down his chest to where he’d spilled.

‘Sloppy,’ he chastened under his breath and Laurent’s cheeks burned.

Auguste had one hand firm on his shoulder and was leaning in close enough that his hair brushed Laurent’s cheek. That close it was impossible to miss the way Laurent gasped when the cloth caught against the ring in his right nipple.

He pulled away, concerned. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Since the piercings had healed Laurent's nipples were so sensitive that even the faintest touch sent waves of pleasure through him. Anything from the sheets on their bed to the slightest brush of silks could set him shivering with oversensitivity.

Laurent couldn’t admit that, so he just shook his head.

‘Are you sure?’ Auguste set the cloth aside and rubbed at the edge of his delicate skin. ‘Have you been using the salve? And turning them every night and morning?’

He squirmed under the touch, nodding then looking down and away.

‘Oh,’ said Auguste and there was a knowing note in his voice. ‘Does that feel good?’ he asked, rubbing over the tender bud with his thumb.

Laurent’s eyes fluttered closed, sparks of pleasure settling low in his belly. ‘Yes,’ he confessed automatically because giving Auguste what he wanted was second nature when he felt like this.

‘That’s good. We should get you a chain, now you’re all healed.’ He plucked lightly at the ring and to his alarm, Laurent felt his cock begin to stir.

Auguste pulled gently at the ring until Laurent had to step forward to ease the ache, a bitten-off noise of protest dying in his throat when his brother squeezed his other nipple gently, rolling it between his fingers. He rubbed his thighs together beneath the surface of the water and hoped that Auguste wouldn't notice his growing arousal.

Eventually Auguste released him and raised one hand to stifle a yawn. ‘It must be late, we should sleep. I have a long day tomorrow.’

Laurent sank down in the water until it reached his chin. His nipples throbbed and his cock was hard, he couldn't get out of the bath like this.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you coming?’

‘In a minute. I need to finish washing.’

‘Don’t be long,’ he said, standing and stretching his shoulders out. ‘Your fingers will prune.’

Laurent waited until he’d gone, walking naked through to their bedroom, then with his forehead pressed to the cool tile of the bath and the sense-memory of his brother’s hands on him, throat still sore from swallowing his cock, he slid a hand down over his stomach and touched himself until he came.

* * *

The gold chain Auguste gifted Laurent to link his nipple rings was hardier than some of the others he owned. A little thicker, it looked less like a stiff breeze would snap it into pieces. Laurent figured out why that was the first time he knelt for his brother while wearing it.

Laurent had been practicing holding the sword most evenings since the night in the baths. Sometimes that meant simply holding his brother's soft cock in his mouth while the King worked, other times Auguste slowly became aroused and used his mouth like he had the first time.

With the addition of the chain, Auguste had found something to occupy his hands while he thought on whatever matters diverted him. He ran the length of it between the fingers of his free hand absently while he wrote, pulling on it lightly.

It drove Laurent to complete distraction. The constant stimulation prevented him from sinking into his usual meditative state, he was forced to note every second that passed. It made it harder to stay still, he was conscious of every twitch of muscle, every twinge that arose in his shoulders and his knees and his arms where they were folded at the small of his back. The worst of it was how _good_ it felt. The more attention Auguste seemed to pay to his chest, the more sensitive Laurent became. It was maddening, a burning, itching, ache. 

Auguste didn’t seem to register how frustrating the constant teasing was and Laurent resolved not to show any sign if he could avoid it.

The King had been preoccupied with his duties of late and Laurent didn’t want to add to his burden. His own world had changed and narrowed since the ceremony, but Auguste’s had grown ever more challenging. Laurent knew he was fortunate that he had no real responsibilities, no pressures of state like his brother had to manage daily. It was all he could do to stay by his side, keeping Auguste company, performing the small services he could to convince the courtiers who watched him half like he was some exotic creature and half like a lamb before wolves.

Laurent found himself feeling neglected at times, although he knew he was being childish to think that way. He craved his bother’s affection, his comfort, but it felt wrong when he did so little to deserve it. Auguste paid the most attention to him when he was showing Laurent how to behave as the King’s pet, and the warm satisfaction he got from pleasing him only confused Laurent further. No-one touched the King's pet but the King, and Auguste only touched Laurent when he was playing at _being_ a pet. It hadn't been an issue until Auguste grew busier and busier, with less time to spend with his brother that wasn't marred with work. Some nights Laurent lay awake in bed, watching Auguste sleep just inches away, and wondered what would happen if he curled close against his side.

It came to a head one evening in their chambers. At dinner, there had been a courtier smoking a pipe of chalis to Laurent’s left side and the smoke had sunk into his lungs until he felt heavy and blood-warm from head to foot. The cool night air drifting through the open bedroom window had shaken some of the dizziness when they retired, but it did nothing to help the prickling heat that swept over his skin and set his heart racing.

When Auguste had sat down at his desk to look over a letter from the ambassador to Patras and gestured that Laurent should kneel at his feet, he had thought, for one wild moment, of refusing. But Auguste had been so late with meetings the previous day that he’d had no time to spend with Laurent, he’d eaten alone for once and was asleep before his brother returned. Laurent had missed him. So, despite his misgivings, Laurent knelt.

Once he was settled Auguste reached for the chain without looking, it had become a practiced habit. He was already half hard when Laurent took him into his mouth and either the pleasure of that or the subject of his letter led him to be harsher than usual with how he pulled at it, winding it around his fingers until the rings stretched and tugged cruelly. To Laurent’s already muddled mind the pain only added to the pleasure and before long he was hard beneath his silks. He could not move to touch himself, there was no relief to be had. The longer he knelt the more the frustration grew until his eyes welled with unshed tears and his body trembled with the effort of holding himself still.

Finally, inevitably, Auguste noticed his distress.

‘Why are you wriggling so?’ The hoarseness of Auguste’s voice betrayed his fatigue. Laurent felt a pang of guilt for disturbing him that was quickly washed away by the flood of humiliation he felt when his brother looked down at found him aroused and wanting at his feet.

‘Well,’ Auguste said, leaning back in his chair. ‘This is new. I didn’t know you enjoyed it so much.’

Laurent closed his eyes, the closest to hiding his face he could achieve, and a tear spilled down his cheek.

‘Hey, now,’ Auguste gentled his tone. ‘There’s no need for that. It’s perfectly fine if you like it, Laurent.’ He tugged experimentally on the chain and Laurent whined around his cock, hips rocking against empty air. ‘I have to finish my reply to the ambassador,’ Auguste told him. ‘But I don’t want to deprive you.’

He shifted in his seat, stretching one leg out before him until it came to rest between Laurent’s spread knees, the tip of his riding boot resting just beneath his crotch. ‘Lean forward,’ said Auguste then, pulling on the chain until Laurent had no choice but to obey. It pressed his weeping cock directly against the stiff leather of Auguste’s boot and even that small contact made Laurent moan wantonly.

Auguste twitched and stiffened in his mouth and Laurent swallowed bitter pre-come. ‘You can bring yourself off like that if you want,’ he said.

It was shameful to rut against his brother’s leg like a dog in heat but the friction felt too good to resist and Laurent gave himself over to it, rocking his hips desperately, the tip of his cock leaving wet streaks against the leather even through his silks. Laurent had been left wanting for so long he was already close to the edge and it didn't take long before he shuddered and came, hands still clutching his wrists behind his back, curving over Auguste with his hips hitching aborted little after-shock thrusts.

When he looked up his brother was watching him with dark eyes and he pushed Laurent back off his erection.

‘You made a mess, little brother,’ he said, ‘clean it up.’

Still muzzy from his release it took Laurent a few seconds to understand but when he did his cheeks flushed scarlet. It didn’t occur to him to resist this time, and he leaned down to press his mouth to Auguste’s boot. The overpowering taste of leather hit his tongue, it was almost pleasant, and with careful precision he licked his come away until the spit-slick surface was pristine.

‘Good boy,’ Auguste said, and then when Laurent raised his face to look at him, ‘open your mouth.’

Laurent did as he was told and Auguste stroked himself, once, twice, three times, and spilled all over his waiting lips.

 * * *

Despite all their rehearsals in private, Auguste had not asked Laurent to warm his cock before the court. Laurent did not delude himself into thinking the matter would not arise eventually but when it did he had not predicted the manner in which things played out.

He was accompanying Auguste during a particularly tedious meeting with the King’s generals. Laurent was seated in an actual chair for once which he appreciated as it gave the deep bruises on his knees a break.

One of the men whose name Laurent had never cared to learn had been rambling for nearly half an hour about something dreadfully boring. Even Auguste’s eyes were glazed and uninterested when someone knocked loudly at the door of the chamber and let himself in without waiting for a response.

Laurent looked around with the rest of the room to see who it was, only to quickly avert his gaze elsewhere. Jord stood in the doorway looking out of breath, a missive clutched in one gloved hand.

Auguste had promoted Jord to Captain of the King’s Guard not long after he’d recovered from Marlas. Laurent had commended his brother on his choice then, Jord was loyal and true and Laurent liked him.

Ever since the ceremony, Jord could not look Laurent in the eye. They never spoke, even when they were in close quarters, and the one time Jord had come to Auguste’s chambers while Laurent was serving him was fixed in Laurent’s memory. He was so visibly uncomfortable with him that it made Laurent feel sick with shame.

‘Your Majesty,’ Jord spoke with urgency, ‘forgive my intrusion.’

Auguste brightened at the prospect of a distraction from the extremely dull meeting. ‘Come in Jord, what’s this about?’

‘News from Akielos,’ said Jord, drawing everyone’s full attention. ‘King Theomedes is dead.’

Auguste set his papers down and turned to face him fully. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I won’t miss the old goat. Let’s hope Damianos doesn’t hold a grudge, hm?’

The generals chuckled.

‘There’s more,’ said Jord. ‘The bastard son, Kastor. There are rumours that he was responsible. He attempted a coup, King Damianos fought him and was nearly killed.’

Laurent felt himself go very still. Despite this being the business of barbarians a whole country away, he knew that it did not bode well for his own situation.

Auguste’s thoughts seemed to run parallel to his own because he cleared his throat and asked Jord to send for Councillor Guion, ambassador to Akielos.

‘We’ll have to reconvene,’ he apologised to his men. ‘You understand the urgency.’

‘What about Delfeur?’

It was the same windbag general who asked and Auguste tensed at Laurent’s side.

‘What about it?’

‘Akielos is destabilised,’ the general said and a few heads around the table nodded. ‘Now would be the perfect opportunity to claim it back.’

‘I truly hope you mean that in jest.’ Laurent hadn’t known he was going to speak until the words were already out and the entire table stared at him, by which point he thought he might as well carry on with his point. ‘Akielos is not destabilised. Akielos is mourning. They have a young king on the throne no doubt furious and grief-stricken, eager for a distraction and a chance to prove himself to his people. Vere, on the other hand, is still recovering from the last attempt and losing allies left and right. If we go to war with Akielos now, we don’t stand a chance.’

‘You let your pet speak to you like that, your Majesty?’ the general asked, clearly stung by Laurent’s cutting words. ‘Seems like you’d have a better use for that vicious mouth.’

Laurent bristled, fully prepared to argue back, but Auguste nodded.

‘You’re right, of course. Laurent, get on your knees. If you can’t keep quiet you can at least make yourself useful.’

Laurent stared. Surely Auguste didn’t mean-

‘Now,’ Auguste snapped and for the first time Laurent felt that when Auguste looked at him he was seeing a pet rather than his own brother.

Having to go from the chair, where he felt almost equal to the other men, down onto his sore knees was harder to bear that if he’d knelt the entire time. His hands trembled when he unlaced Auguste’s trousers but he couldn’t tell how much of that was horror that he’d have to do this in front of people or anger at being dismissed in such a cold manner.

There was a shuffling behind Laurent as he took Auguste into his mouth and he closed his eyes against the thought that they were all leaning around to watch him. Not since the ceremony had Laurent felt so humiliated.

Auguste drew the generals attention back to the matter of Akielos and Laurent did his best to tune the discussion out, leaning forward so his hair partially covered his face when the door opened to admit Councillor Guion and Jord.

If he tilted his head Laurent could see Jord's boots past Auguste’s waist. He settled by the door rather than joining the generals, a mistake in Laurent’s mind. They needed input from at least one person with a hint of critical thinking and self-preservation.

The meeting ran long but Auguste stayed soft the entire time. He kept Laurent on his knees while the men filed out and did not speak when he finally stood, merely gestured for him to follow.

It was not until the heavy door of the King’s chambers closed behind them that Auguste finally turned to look at Laurent. He was pale, points of red standing out on his cheeks just as they did on Laurent’s when he was very angry.

‘What were you thinking?’ Auguste asked, his voice measured and perfectly controlled. ‘Explain it to me, Laurent. You’re a clever boy. There must have been some rationality behind such a stupid act.’

Laurent dug his nails into his palms and tried to match his brother’s tone. ‘Trying to reclaim Delfeur is a stupid act,’ he said. ‘You know this. Why are you entertaining the idiotic whims of those warmongering old fools.’

‘The decisions I make for the good of this country are not your concern.’ The words hit Laurent like a slap. ‘What I want to know is why you thought it was acceptable to speak out of turn and insult one of the King’s generals?’

He didn’t answer. It had been a foolish thing to do and he knew it.

‘After such a revelation,’ Auguste continued, walking a slow circle around him. ‘You know how this court feels about you. And now, just across the border a bastard son commits treason, turns on his family, tries to murder his brother, the true heir. This was the absolute worst thing you could have done in response. Do you think that your actions stayed contained in that room? Do you think half of Arles does not know by now what you did?’

Auguste spoke the truth. It had been a moment of pure impulse, the thought of Auguste riding out once again to fight Akielons for Delfeur was too much. Laurent stayed silent.

‘Do you want to undermine me? Is that your goal, to make me look like a weak king in front of my people?’

‘No, of course not.’ Laurent meant to defend his brother, surely Auguste could see that?

‘Then I can only assume you want me to be firmer with you. That you need me to show you the consequences of such poor behaviour.’ Auguste came to stand behind him. ‘Strip.’

Laurent startled and turned to look at his brother but Auguste’s face was harsh and unwavering. Laurent could feel him watching, scrutinising his every move as he reluctantly slipped out of his silks.

‘The jewels too,’ said Auguste and Laurent added them to the pile on the chaise until he was fully nude. ‘Get on the bed, on your hands and knees.’

At that instruction, Laurent halted and looked questioningly into his brother’s face.

‘You will do this,’ Auguste said steadily, ‘or I will send you to Chastillon with two of my least favourite guards and leave you there alone for the rest of the season.’

Laurent got on the bed. He had a sinking suspicion of why Auguste wanted him positioned in such a way but it seemed too absurd to be true. He straightened his shoulders and back as best he could and frowned at the ornate headstand past the mounds of soft pillows. It had a repeating pattern of golden pomegranates carved around the edge which he’d never noticed before.

‘Do you know what you did wrong?’ asked Auguste from where he was stood near Laurent's feet.

‘I pointed out that trying to take back Delfeur was a pointless endeavour.’

‘Incorrect.’ There was a sharp _crack_ as Auguste struck him.

Laurent was overcome by a shock of fiery, tingling pain that swept over him like a wave, stealing the breath from his lungs. He was stunned, not only by how much it hurt but by how degrading it felt to be spanked like an unruly child.

He couldn’t even attempt a response when Auguste asked, ‘Would you like to try again?’

Auguste hit him on the other side, right where the curve of his ass met thigh, and Laurent choked out a sound of protest.

‘That’s not an answer, Laurent,’ said Auguste.

He started a steady rhythm, striking hard with the flat of his palm. Laurent couldn’t think to count the blows. He couldn’t think at all, his mind was full of the sound of skin on skin, the sting when Auguste made contact, the heat of it building within him as the blows overlapped.

Auguste was relentless, each slap was as hard as the last, if not harder.

‘You spoke out of turn,’ he said as a low hit struck Laurent across the sensitive skin of his sac making him keen. ‘You insulted a man loyal to the crown.’ A second slap to the tender flesh of his inner thigh. ‘You showed yourself as a liability.’ A final hit to the meat of his ass where most of the blows had been concentrated sent Laurent tumbling forward, elbows giving out until he was face down against the mattress.

Auguste dug his fingers into one sore cheek and Laurent gasped wetly. ‘Are you ready to apologise?’

Laurent’s head spun, his tongue was thick in his mouth and his throat was tight. He couldn't speak.

‘Stubborn to the last.’ Auguste sighed, taking his silence as defiance. He pushed down on Laurent’s shoulder’s until he was flat against the bed, his back a sharp arch. ‘Spread your legs wider.’

There was no chance to resist. Auguste forced his shaking thighs apart and Laurent hid his face against the sheets. He felt debased, exposed. His cheeks were wet and his cock was hard and he had no idea when or how it had happened.

Auguste moved behind him but Laurent didn’t turn to look. There was the sound of fabric rustling, and then Auguste’s hand came to rest lightly on the smarting skin of his behind.

‘Nothing to say?’

Laurent shook his head and Auguste’s hand vanished. There was a whistling sound, like air being displaced, not dissimilar to an arrow being shot from a bow, and a line of pure agony blossomed across the back of Laurent’s thighs. It hurt down to his bones. Auguste struck him again in the same spot and a cry tore from Laurent’s throat.

Auguste did not speak. The strap came down, over and over, carving searing lines across Laurent’s ass and thighs. When the tip of it caught Laurent’s balls he howled into the coverlet. Cold sweat broke out across his back and although he cringed from the blows he couldn't think how to escape them, he felt pinned in place by the pain.

Auguste changed the angle so the hits cut diagonally across his bruised flesh and when the strap landed over his vulnerable hole, Laurent collapsed. It hurt more than the rape in the throne room, more than kneeling for hours on flagstone, turning the edges of his vision pure white.

Laurent sobbed as he lay insensate on the bed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he managed to force the words out when Auguste came around to look at him. ‘Please, no more, I’m sorry.’

Auguste hushed him, smoothing his hair away from hot, tear-stained cheeks, then he pulled Laurent into his lap and rocked him as he cried.


	4. Chapter 4

Auguste was correct in his warning that the whole court would hear of Laurent’s outburst.

He stayed out of sight for a few days while his bruises healed but rather than calming the rumours, Laurent's absence only fuelled them further and eventually, Auguste decided he would have to make a public appearance. There was to be a feast at court, unofficially held to celebrate the departure of the Kemptian ambassador who had made himself an unpopular nuisance during his visit. A night of entertainments had been planned, with many exotic performances from pets, musicians, and even a troupe of travelling actors. Enough distraction that Laurent’s presence should not cause too much of a stir.

Or at least it might not have done, if not for what Laurent was expected to wear.

Just as the common folk had a device called a scold’s bridle for those citizens whose speech was riotous or malicious, so too was there a traditional punishment for pets who slandered their betters. It was rarely used any more, except for play purposes or in the ring but Laurent had seen it once or twice at court.

The gag was the opposite of a branks, designed to hold the mouth open rather than closed. A ring of metal was settled behind the teeth so the pet could not bite, pointed prongs on either side prevented the pet from spinning it around in their mouth or spitting it out. The more basic gags were held in place by a plain leather strap. Laurent’s had embellished gold metalwork as was fit for the King’s pet. It was uncomfortable, after just a few minutes of wearing it Laurent’s jaw began to ache. It was also mortifying, as was the intention. Laurent could not speak, could not close his mouth, was not permitted to wipe his chin when he drooled shamefully around the metal. The suggestion that anyone at any time could insert themselves into his mouth scared him, even knowing that only Auguste would ever be permitted to touch him.

Along with the gag and his usual jewels and paint, Laurent was wearing two thick gold wristbands, joined together with a short length of chain that matched the one clipped to his nipple rings, and a plug beneath his silks. The plug was the same one Auguste had put inside him after the ceremony. Laurent hadn’t been aware at the time that his brother had kept it, Auguste had taken it out as soon as they were safe in their chambers and he hadn’t seen it since he’d been urged into the baths.

After Laurent’s spanking, once he’d calmed and his chest had ceased hitching and the tears had stopped, Auguste had lain Laurent carefully down on their bed and looked over his bruises. Laurent felt brutalised but Auguste assured him that the marks were not serious, a little salve would clear them right up.

The salve was cool and soothing on Laurent’s abrasions. Auguste began with the welts on his thighs, his touch light and precise. He smoothed the sweet-smelling salve into Laurent’s skin, taking extra care over the belt marks.

Laurent had been surprised to learn that it was only Auguste’s thin leather belt folded over that had been used to strike him and not, as he’d believed, a real leather strap. He thought of how it had stung and resolved to never provoke the need to be hit with anything harder.

When Auguste had rubbed salve over the full curve of Laurent’s behind, his fingers dipped into the cleft of his ass and Laurent made a broken sound of protest.

‘It caught you here,’ said Auguste, carefully spreading his cheeks apart. ‘I have to be thorough to make sure you heal properly.’

Laurent cringed at the first brush of Auguste’s fingers over his swollen hole.

‘You’re a little pink.’ Auguste slowly rubbed salve into the puffy skin. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Yes, Laurent said, swallowing thickly so he would not cry again. He was so sensitive, as if all the nerve endings there had been set alight. Auguste’s fingers circled gently, pressing and retreating over the fluttering muscle. Laurent shifted against the sheets. He hurt all over but the soft touch felt good. Auguste lifted his hand away and Laurent had a second of fleeting disappointment before his fingers returned, wet with more salve.

‘You’ve not been wearing the plug, have you?’ Auguste asked and Laurent stirred from the half doze he was slipping into. ‘You really should, Laurent. It will help later.’

Laurent made a muffled questioning sound and shivered when the tip of Auguste’s finger slipped past his rim ever so slightly.

‘Are you still sore?’ Auguste moved on the bed beside him when Laurent nodded.

His eyes were itchy and his face felt hot and tight from crying. He rubbed his cheek against the soft sheets and tried not to flinch when Auguste spread him open again. Instead of Auguste’s fingers, Laurent felt the warm stirring of breath against his skin and then a sudden, wet heat. He gasped aloud as Auguste’s tongue swept over him, searing where the salve had cooled.

‘Don’t,’ Laurent moaned into the pillows, clenching his fingers in the coverlet. It felt like too much, too intense where he was already so raw.

Auguste licked at him in broad, flat strokes, pulling back to blow cool air over damp skin. ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’

 It did, it felt so good, the edge of pain only sharpening Laurent’s arousal. He moaned in lieu of answering, twisting his hips against the mattress. When Auguste dipped his head back down and flicked the point of his tongue against Laurent’s hole he keened, rocking back against his brother’s mouth.

‘I’ll make you feel better,’ Auguste spoke against his skin and Laurent shivered. Auguste’s lips pressed against his rim and he sucked lightly, tongue easing in deeper.

Laurent thrust against the bed, his cock hard and leaking, and Auguste, disturbed by the movement, pulled a pillow down from the head of the bed and tucked it underneath him.

He skimmed over the bruises on Laurent’s ass with both hands and smiled when his hips jerked. ‘You like this.’

Auguste scooped more salve from the jar and smeared the cool substance over Laurent’s loosening hole, spreading it open with his thumb as he slid one finger inside. He worked the salve slowly into him, pulling gently at the ring of muscle. It was completely different from the rushed stretching Laurent had experienced before and he found himself pushing back into the touch. Auguste hummed in approval and pressed two fingers past his rim, curling and twisting them until they brushed against Laurent’s prostate.

Laurent sobbed and ground down against the pillow beneath him, his cock trapped between his belly and the soft linen. Auguste pressed down harder, fucking his fingers in and out of Laurent’s hole. He skimmed the edge of that spot that made lights sparkle behind Laurent’s eyes on every thrust and finally the banked pleasure that had been building in him overflowed and he came hard with a desperate cry.

Auguste did not pull his fingers away, although he did fall still while Laurent shuddered through his orgasm. Once he had collapsed bonelessly against the sheets Auguste slowly began to work his fingers in and out of Laurent’s stretched ass, scissoring them to ease him open wider. Laurent whined, oversensitive and exhausted, but Auguste paid him no mind, sliding a third finger past his rim.

‘Auguste,’ Laurent pleaded. ‘Enough, it hurts.’

‘Hush,’ Auguste added more salve to his sloppy hole. ‘You’re not ready yet.’

Ready for what? Laurent wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare.

Auguste kept touching him.

He kept on, and on, and just when Laurent thought he could cry again his brother curled his fingers and brushed Laurent’s swollen prostate. Despite everything, the aching bruises, the sting of his overstimulated cock, Laurent felt himself begin to harden once more. When he tried to move, to roll away from Auguste, he found himself pinned in place by a hand on the small of his back, the pressure shoving Laurent’s sensitive cock down against the wet spot he’d made on the pillow beneath him.

‘Don’t move,’ Auguste said, drawing his fingers out, and then Laurent felt the familiar cold metal tip of the plug kissing up against his hole.

Auguste worked it into him slowly, fucking it in and out with careful twists of his wrist, dipping in a little further each time. The stretch of it left Laurent gasping against the sheets and he moaned when Auguste spread his twitching hole open wide with his other hand so he could take the widest point of the plug. Laurent felt the exact moment when it slipped inside, his hole swallowing the bulb deep until the base settled against his rim, filling him up. It felt bigger than it had before, perhaps because Laurent had not been split open on his brother’s cock first. He clenched around it without meaning to and groaned at the pressure.

‘You’ll need to keep this in now,’ Auguste was saying, giving his ass cheeks a gentle squeeze to settle the plug firmly in place. ‘You’ll be thankful you did one day.’

Laurent couldn’t begin to think about what that meant. He was still hard and he moved easily when Auguste urged him to roll onto his back. The scrape of the sheets against his still tender thighs and ass sent a shock through him and he hid his face in his hands when Auguste noticed how hard he was, his cock flushed dark and wet against his stomach.

‘Poor Laurent,’ said Auguste. ‘This was all too much for you, wasn’t it? Let me take care of you.’

His brother’s hand felt rough on the overstimulated skin of his cock and Laurent sobbed when he realised that every time he thrust up into the touch he tightened on the plug and every time he tried to relax against the bed it stung the welts from the beating. Auguste cupped his aching balls in his palm and rubbed just behind them and Laurent tipped over into his second orgasm, come splashing up his chest and onto his cheek.

He’d been wearing the plug ever since and Auguste had suggested that he’d be ready for a larger size soon.

Laurent could not easily eat with the gag in place and Auguste did not ask him to fetch him things during dinner with his reach limited by the cuffs. Instead, Laurent had to sit at his side and tolerate the eyes of the court on him. This was part of his public punishment for the scene he’d made. The gag was a show for the courtiers but making Laurent suffer their attentions was a surefire method of discouraging him from repeating his mistake, as if being whipped with his brother’s belt had not hammered the point home already.

Auguste ignored him except to toy with the nipple chain while he held court, sharing conversation with several courtiers whose pets watched Laurent curiously, their eyes fixed on him rather than the actors in the pit as if he might at any moment perform some sort of trick.

By the time the pet performances began, Laurent was half hard and fighting not to show it. It was almost a relief when Auguste drew him in between his knees and slipped his cock past the gag to rest in Laurent’s open mouth. At least this way he had his back turned to his rapt audience.

The only downside to being in such a position was that the nobles seemed to assume he lost all ability to hear. Laurent thought that the pets of Arles must have in their possession more valuable secrets than the highest paid spymaster.

‘Isn’t it about time you put that pet of yours in the ring?’ said Lord Steffan. ‘We all enjoyed his first performance so much, it would be an honour to see you take him again.’

Auguste laughed and smoothed Laurent’s hair away from his face. ‘I’m not sure about that. He’s shy, you see.’

‘Well, perhaps by the summer festival. Why even your father joined the festivities in the old days.’

Laurent did not want to think about their father fucking pets in the palace grounds in some farcical rite. The ornamental gardens still held a half-mystical position in Laurent’s mind, a dangerous place where upsetting sights could be lurking around every corner. He knew logically this wasn’t true but the memory of Lord Neven’s pet had never truly left him.

Laurent could hear the sound of two female pets in the ring and Auguste began to grow aroused. He fucked Laurent’s mouth on his cock, a messier endeavour than usual with the gag holding him open, but this didn’t appear to discourage Auguste. In fact, after a few minutes he pulled Laurent back by the hair and rubbed his erection through the wetness on his chin, smearing it across his cheeks.

‘Isn’t he pretty,’ a feminine voice murmured but Laurent couldn’t move to see who it was that spoke.

Auguste stroked himself leisurely, the head of his cock leaving a glaze of pre-come across Laurent’s lips. His hand sped up as the sounds of pleasure reached a crescendo behind Laurent and he tucked the head of his cock just inside the open ring of the gag and spilled in Laurent’s mouth.

‘Don’t swallow yet,’ Auguste instructed, nudging his calf between Laurent’s thighs to press tauntingly against his erection. ‘And don’t spill.’

Laurent felt tears well in his eyes as he held a mouthful of cooling come while his brother ground cruelly up against his aching cock. The toe of Auguste’s boot nudged against the fat base of Laurent’s plug and he whined in his throat, damp eyelashes fluttering. Auguste rocked the plug gently inside him and Laurent rubbed against his leg, desperate for relief.

Then all at once Auguste pulled his leg away and smiled down at Laurent. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Now you can swallow.’

* * *

Laurent knew what was required of him publicly, there was no avoiding that. He hadn’t been sure how much of that act would extend to private interactions with Auguste but as time went on the line blurred to almost nothing. Laurent found himself instigating first contact more, even when it meant serving his brother. He hated being ignored, being left alone, which had always been Auguste’s meanest punishment when his younger brother annoyed him. I light of Laurent's neediness they fell into a new routine and part of it was that they were almost always touching in some way, which usually meant Laurent on his knees.

On a quiet evening, they could often be found in bed together, Auguste reading by the low light of an oil lamp and Laurent curled up with his head in his brother’s lap, suckling at his cock with his eyes drifting shut. Sometimes that was all that happened, other times Auguste would stroke a hand between his shoulders, down over his back and slide Laurent’s plug out. Then he would finger him lazily, stretching Laurent’s hole a little more each time, occasionally settling a larger plug inside him once he was done.

Now that he knew Laurent became aroused when kneeling for him, Auguste resolved to treat his pet to some well-earned relief. In addition to the plugs which Laurent wore daily, Auguste gifted him a thick toy to sit on while he worked.

‘I can’t always spare the time to help you,’ he told Laurent. ‘I know you like having something to rut against but you’ll enjoy this just as much.’

The toy was large, easily as wide around as Auguste’s cock, and long enough that Laurent could fuck himself on it while he knelt. He’d been wary of it at first but Auguste had shown him how to use it, had fingered him until he was open and slick with oil and helped him slowly take it right down to the hilt, urged him to ride until he came even when he thought he couldn’t do it.

When Laurent was in control he usually tried to keep the penetration shallow, he swore that when he took the whole thing he could feel it in his belly.

Not all their interactions were focused on training. Laurent still accompanied Auguste to meetings and state duties and although he never spoke out of turn in public, he often shared his thoughts with Auguste afterwards when they were alone.

‘I’m so lucky to have you,’ Auguste said on those occasions. ‘Not many kings have a brother as trusted and talented as you are.’

Of course, he said similar things with his cock in Laurent’s throat, which made their sincerity difficult to gauge.

Sometimes when they’d worked together to solve an issue or debate a course of action, Laurent daydreamed of how things might have been if he'd never been made a pet, if he’d truly been Auguste’s closest advisor as Uncle was to their father. Those thoughts never led him anywhere pleasant though so he did his best to set them aside and concentrate on how he could help his brother best as things were.

There was little Laurent wouldn’t do for Auguste.

Maybe if he had thought more about why he had to wear the plugs all the time, Laurent would have been more prepared when Auguste wanted to fuck him again. The truth was that Laurent tried not to think too much about the things Auguste had him do any more. It was easier to let the events unfold, to let things flow over him as if they weren’t really happening.

There was no particular occasion, no obvious reason why Auguste chose that day and not any other, not that Laurent was aware of.

Laurent was reading in their chambers, lounging on the rug in front of the window in a patch of sunshine like a contented cat. His face was scrubbed clean of paint and he was dressed in one of Auguste’s shirts rather than his usual silks. Laurent hadn't thought that such a pose would invite particular attention from his brother, although he was aware that Auguste had set aside his work some time ago to watch him as he lay there.

When Auguste called him over Laurent had assumed he wanted him to kneel but Auguste crowded him over to the bed and pushed at his shoulders until he was laid out on his back.

‘Lady Rozenn spoke to me this morning,’ he said, pushing Laurent’s borrowed shirt up over his thighs. ‘She told me how lucky I was to have such a beautiful pet.’

Laurent’s cheeks warmed, he was still unused to being referred to in such a way.

‘She was right,’ Auguste continued, pushing the shirt up to Laurent’s neck, skimming over his nipples. ‘You are beautiful.’

Laurent sat up and shucked the shirt off fully. He wasn’t sure how this situation would proceed but there was a familiar focused look in his brother’s eyes that indicated he would be best to go along with whatever was to come.

Auguste knelt over him on the bed and Laurent was once again made aware of the difference in their frames, even more so when Auguste spread his hands over Laurent’s hips, spanning the slender curve of his waist.

‘You’re still so small,’ Auguste mused, seemingly to himself. ‘I could scarcely believe I fit inside you.’

A thrill of alarm ran down Laurent’s spine and he shivered. ‘Auguste,’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’

‘You took me all the way in,’ his brother said wonderingly, pressing down gently on Laurent’s lower abdomen. ‘I can’t imagine how it felt.’

‘It hurt,’ Laurent’s voice wavered.

‘It wouldn’t anymore,’ said Auguste, running one hand up the inside of Laurent’s thigh and pushing his knee wide. ‘Not now you’ve been stretched for me.’

Laurent clenched down unconsciously on the plug inside him as Auguste leaned back to pull his own shirt off and throw it aside.

‘Take it out,’ he said, stepping back to unlace his trousers.

Hesitantly Laurent reached between his legs and eased the plug out of his ass, blushing at the wet noise it made and how open he felt without it filling him up. Auguste tossed a bottle of oil onto the bed and the cold glass bumped against Laurent’s side.

‘Touch yourself.’

The oil was fragrant and slick, the sort that was sure to stain the sheets. Laurent coated his hand in the stuff and reached down to stroke his cock.

‘Not there,’ Auguste laughed crawling back onto the bed unclothed. ‘So greedy, Laurent. Finger yourself for me.’

Laurent’s cheeks burned as he reached down past his still soft cock. He’d never had to do this himself before and he knew his inexperience showed. Auguste didn't seem to mind, settling back on his heels to watch.

He started with two fingers but Laurent regularly took three of Auguste’s which were far thicker and with the angle being slightly awkward, he barely made an impression.

‘Here,’ Auguste said, catching hold of him behind his knees and pulling until Laurent was propped up with his ass resting on his brother’s knees, legs splayed over his lap and back still sloping down onto the mattress. It was very close quarters and Laurent’s chest burned with mortification.

‘Keep going,’ Auguste said, wrapping one hand around his own cock and settling the other on Laurent’s hipbone, thumb pressing hard against the thin skin over the bone.

It was easier, slightly, to touch himself in that position, he could at least reach further. Laurent pressed three fingers into himself and Auguste couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away as he fucked them shallowly in and out of his hole. He had never felt more on display, not even in a crowded hall full of people.

‘Another,’ said Auguste, stroking himself slowly, and Laurent worked a fourth finger past his rim.

The friction alone wasn’t enough to arouse him and at this angle, Laurent couldn’t reach his prostate. Slowly, unsure if he would be scolded or praised for it, Laurent brought his other hand to his chest and pulled lightly on the closest nipple ring.

Auguste cursed at the sight and reached for the oil, pouring a healthy measure over his cock. ‘That’s enough.’ He caught hold of Laurent’s hand and pulled his fingers free.

Laurent was only just barely getting hard but he allowed himself to be moved, Auguste pressing both of his wrists down against the mattress beside his head.

‘Beautiful,’ Auguste said again, pressing the head of his cock against Laurent’s ass.

He was wrong. Despite the plugs and the fingers and the stretching, it still hurt. A sob caught in Laurent’s throat as Auguste pushed in, not slow and steadily like the first time but all at once in one long stroke.

It was wildly different to fucking himself on a toy when Laurent could control the speed and the depth and the angle. Auguste tightened his grip around Laurent’s wrists and leaned over him to get more leverage as he fucked him hard, Laurent was almost folded in two and Auguste’s cock slammed against his prostate with every thrust.

It was so different, too, from the first time. Auguste was real and warm and close above him, Laurent could see the flush across his chest, the sweat on his brow. Their eyes had never met during the act before and Laurent quailed at the intensity of it.

Auguste’s hold tightened further and Laurent winced as the bones of his wrists ground together. ‘You’re hurting me,’ he said in a small voice but Auguste seemed not to hear him.

‘I want everyone to know you’re mine,’ he said pulling all the way out and slamming back in again. ‘I want you to wear my marks like jewels on your skin.’

Laurent moaned as his brother forced him down against the bed and the tip of his cock brushed tantalisingly against Auguste’s stomach.

‘I thought of you like this, before,’ Auguste confessed, letting go of one of Laurent’s wrists to hold his face still. ‘I knew I shouldn’t but I did.’  
  
Laurent wrapped his freed hand around his cock and moaned as he finally got some relief.

‘Look at you,’ Auguste’s voice was reverent. ‘You were born for this.’

Another rough thrust hit Laurent’s prostate as he stroked himself and he came, head thrown back against the sheets, Auguste following seconds after.

Auguste stayed leaning over him, stroking his cheek gently as they breathed, the weight of him crowding Laurent down against the bed.

Laurent leaned up and very tentatively brushed his lips against his brother's. The kiss was slow and soft and exploratory, it felt a thousand times more intimate than being fucked or holding Auguste’s cock in his mouth or swallowing his come.

It was Laurent's first.

* * *

Eventually, Laurent found himself getting hard just from kneeling. It was as if his body had learned that the act meant stimulation and proceeded without his consent. Auguste didn’t even have to touch him, although it was always worse when he did. He tried not to torment Laurent too much, in their chambers he made sure Laurent finished, either against his boots or on the toy or, if they were in bed, in his hand. On very rare occasions, if Laurent had been particularly well behaved, Auguste took him in his mouth.

It was more complicated when they were in public and Laurent told his brother how much he hated when it happened and everyone could see.

Auguste surprised him with a gift designed specifically to help with that issue and showed him how to fit it in place. A ring of metal was locked behind Laurent’s balls and a cage held his cock tightly to keep it soft. It was uncomfortable at first and embarrassing to see the shape of it beneath his silks, but Laurent soon grew used to the constriction.

The reassurance that Laurent would not get hard was soon overcome by the frustration of not being able to get hard, for while the cage kept him from showing his arousal, he still felt it. If Auguste teased him long enough he would twitch and leak through the bars, his balls swollen and aching and full.

He didn’t have to wear the cage when they were alone, although sometimes Auguste liked him to keep it on while he took him so that afterwards he could slip his fingers into his fucked out hole and rub teasingly over his prostate until Laurent writhed and sobbed and came without ever getting hard, come dribbling uselessly out of his soft cock.

Auguste liked to stay inside Laurent after he’d finished fucking him.

Sometimes he had Laurent get him hard with his mouth and then sit on his lap. It was a kind of game, Laurent had to keep as still as he could even while Auguste stroked his cock, touching him only for a few seconds at a time, rubbing teasingly at the wet head, pressing at the soft skin behind his tight balls, digging the edge of his nail against Laurent’s sensitive slit. He’d take his hand away and hold Laurent still as he squirmed on his brother’s cock, then once he’d settled, he’d touch him again. Interspersed with toying with Laurent’s nipple rings and biting gently at his throat this could go on for what felt like hours until Laurent wept helpless tears and begged to be allowed to come. One or twice after Auguste had finished, he kept his cock inside Laurent until he was hard again and did it all over.

Other times Laurent woke up to Auguste fucking him. Held down against the sheets, one knee hitched high beside his waist so his brother could take him with deep, easy thrusts. He knew there were occasions when he didn’t come to at all, mornings where he woke to find himself sore between his thighs with his nipples bitten aching and bruised, come crusted across his cheeks and stomach, leaking out between his legs.

Auguste hadn’t taken him in front of the court yet, but Laurent knew the day was coming.

When Laurent had told him how he dreaded it, wrapped in his brother’s arms in the safe dark of their bedchamber, Auguste had promised that he would find a solution.

‘It’s called aphrodisia,’ Auguste said as Laurent swirled the goblet he was holding sceptically. ‘It’s an Akielon drug, similar to chalis but taken in liquid. Commonly used to calm nervous lovers.’

‘An Akielon drug?’ Laurent wrinkled his nose.

‘I’ve tried it,’ Auguste slumped onto the bed beside Laurent and propped himself up on his elbows. ‘It’s quite pleasant, there’s no taste. I don’t know why it’s pink. Perhaps for aesthetic reasons.’

Laurent peered at the pale pink liquid. It didn’t have any discernible smell. He glanced at Auguste who raised one eyebrow, a subtle dare. Laurent sipped the drink.

‘You have to drink it all for it to work,’ said Auguste, and Laurent tilted the goblet back and drank it down.

Auguste had suggested they try the drug as a way for Laurent to relax. They’d argued more than once about just how far Laurent would be expected to go before the court, the only subject outside of politics that Laurent would fight with him about.

The previous week Laurent had thrown what Auguste referred to as a tantrum and what Laurent personally felt was a justified emotional breakdown when he’d raised the subject of the summer festival. Laurent had pleaded, then grown angry when Auguste could not seem to understand that he would never willingly fuck his brother in public.

As with so many things, Auguste had taken it as a challenge.

It wasn’t long before the drug took effect.

It hit him with dizzying vertigo. Laurent had been crossing the room to fetch a book and he stumbled, catching himself on the chair beside Auguste’s desk. His heart began to race, goosebumps breaking out across his skin as a throb of arousal hit him like a punch.

‘Auguste,’ he said, clinging to the chair. ‘What’s happening?’

‘You’re fine,’ said Auguste, coming to his side and taking his arm to lead him back to the bed. ‘Don’t fight it, just feel.’

Laurent licked his dry lips and the wet warmth of his own tongue made them tingle. Auguste’s hand on his arm was a glowing beacon of delicious contact, Laurent wanted to press himself against his brother’s side like a cat and rub against him. His skin prickled all over, the silks he wore felt rough as sackcloth. Auguste helped him strip them off and laid him back on the bed. Laurent was already panting, chest heaving and eyes glazed. His nipples were hard and he could feel the piercings in them even though they weren’t being touched. His whole body was aflame, he clenched hard on the plug in his ass.

‘It feels-’ he trailed off, eyelids flickering. Words were difficult, his mouth was burning and numb in turns. The world span the way it had the one time he’d drunk too much wine, trying to keep pace with Auguste.

Auguste. His brother wasn’t touching him and that seemed suddenly terribly wrong. Laurent whimpered and forced his eyes open to look for him. Auguste was watching him from the edge of the bed and Laurent shivered under his gaze. He was rocking his hips in desperate little jerks but when he reached down to touch himself his fingers were halted by his cage. Laurent’s head was so flooded with feeling that he hadn’t even noticed he was still wearing it, he whined, slipping the tip of his finger past the bars to stroke what he could reach and his back arched at how good it felt.

‘Auguste,’ he gasped, ‘please, I want-’

‘What do you want?’

Laurent’s soft cock throbbed and ached in time with his heartbeat. He was so slick with pre-come it dripped off the cage and down his thighs. Auguste rested one hand on his calf and Laurent curved towards it, all thoughts wiped away by the simple touch.

‘Touch me,’ he begged. ‘Please, please, Auguste, touch me, I need it.’

Auguste’s laugh rumbled in his chest and Laurent shivered at the sound, his brother slid his hand up his side to rest on his hip and Laurent moaned aloud.

‘Where do you want me to touch you?’ he asked. ‘Here?’ he slid his fingers across the concave plane of Laurent’s stomach. ‘Here, maybe?’ he skimmed the edge of a nipple. ‘In here?’ Auguste slid two fingers past Laurent’s lips and he sucked at them with abandon.

Auguste’s other hand slipped between his thighs and pressed teasingly at the base of his plug. Laurent moaned around the fingers in his mouth and rocked down against the pressure, spreading his knees open and bracing his feet against the mattress.

‘You like it when I touch you,’ said Auguste and Laurent whined his agreement, rubbing his tight nipples. ‘Would you like it if I fucked you?’

Laurent nodded, there was nothing he wanted more.

Auguste toyed with the plug, rocking it back and forth inside him. ‘Enough to ask for it?’ he asked, slipping his fingers free and trailing them down Laurent’s throat.

‘I want it,’ Laurent rasped. ‘Please, I want- want you to fuck me.’ There was a tiny part of Laurent’s mind that rebelled against speaking the words but it was silenced when Auguste ducked down and laved his tongue over one of his nipples, tugging at the ring there with his teeth.

Auguste pulled his plug out and pushed his knees up. ‘Hold yourself open for me,’ he said, wrapping Laurent’s hands around the back of his thighs.

The first brush of Auguste’s cock against Laurent’s rim sent shudders up Laurent’s spine, he whined, mouth hanging open, as his brother rubbed the blunt head against him.

‘Beg,’ Auguste said and Laurent obliged.

Auguste’s cock was a length of burning heat that sent Laurent’s mind spiralling. The pleasure when he brushed his prostate shot through him like lightning, every nerve ending blazing until Laurent was lost in pure sensation. Auguste fucked him hard and fast, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other pulling at his nipples. When he came Laurent almost wept because he knew that the feeling was ending.

Only, it didn’t. Auguste pulled out of him but he made no move to unlock Laurent’s cage. Instead, he slid the plug back into his hole and got up off the bed.

‘What,’ Laurent was nearly beside himself at being left wanting. ‘Why, Auguste, I need to come, please-’

Being fucked hadn’t taken the edge off, it had only pushed Laurent closer to it. He reached between his legs to push at his plug and Auguste caught hold of his hands.

‘Ah, ah,’ he scolded. ‘Not like that.’

‘Then how?’ Laurent asked, eyes shiny with tears.

‘Let me fuck you at the festival,’ said Auguste and Laurent sobbed.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, I can’t.’

Auguste sighed. ‘Then you don’t get to come.’

He tied Laurent’s hands to the bed. Laurent was too weak to fight, every inch of him thrumming with need. Auguste seemed unmoved by his plight, he went and sat at his desk, still nude, and began looking over some letters.

Laurent writhed, tugging against his bonds. Now he wasn’t being touched the drug seemed to burn stronger within him and there was no distraction. He could do nothing.

It felt like hours when Auguste settled on the bed at his side again and trailed one fingertip lightly over Laurent’s hip, curving around the edge of his cage. ‘Do you have a different answer for me?’ he asked.

Laurent wanted to say yes, he wanted to tell Auguste whatever he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t.

‘Alright,’ said Auguste. ‘We’ll try again.’

Auguste fucked him four more times throughout the evening. Later, Laurent would realise that his brother must have taken some of the drug himself to manage that but at the time all he was focused on was how sloppy and raw his hole felt, how his balls throbbed, how badly he wanted release. Auguste put the plug back inside him after each time and Laurent felt bloated with come, his stomach ached at how full he was.

Eventually, Laurent broke.

‘Do you have something to tell me?’ Auguste asked, pulling the plug free. Laurent could feel how slick he was, come bubbling and oozing out when Auguste pulled gently at his rim. ‘I won’t be angry if you don’t. I’ll just keep you like this, drugged and desperate, plugged open and waiting in my bed. Ready for me to fuck whenever I want, like a proper pet.’

Laurent’s eyes rolled back in his head when Auguste slipped his cock inside his stretched out hole. He was so wet inside that he could hear Auguste fucking him, humiliating squelching sounds that made his cheeks flush and his cock twitch.

‘I’ll fill you up, morning and night until you’re so full your belly swells with it,’ Auguste promised. ‘And I’ll never, ever let you come.’

Laurent sobbed.

‘Is that not what you want?’ Auguste asked fucking him harder. ‘You don’t want to be just a hole for me to fuck?’

‘No,’ Laurent’s throat was so sore from pleading that his voice was just a croak.

‘Do you want to come?’

_‘Yes.’_

Auguste spilled one final time and slid his dripping cock free.

‘Will you let me fuck you at the summer festival?’ he asked, pressing down on Laurent’s belly until the come gushed out of him in sticky globs.

‘Yes,’ Laurent whispered and Auguste smiled.

‘Good,’ he said and unlocked the cage.

In the end, Laurent was so overstimulated that he could barely get hard.

‘I should commission a portrait of you, just like this,’ Auguste said sleepily, watching as Laurent trembled on the bed, stroking his stinging cock with clumsy fingers, seed still spilling out of his hole.

His release when it did come was ruined and left him unsatisfied and ashamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us all give thanks for Paschal's Magic Salves which are safe for human consumption and can double as lube :}
> 
> I know there's no religion in the capri universe but since humans have been engaging in some variety of ritual since the dawn of time I came up with the Veretian Summer Festival, essentially a week long bacchanal-esque party to celebrate midsummer where people get drunk and have a lot of kinky sex in public, often while wearing costumes to "disguise" their identities.


	5. Chapter 5

Laurent was setting trends all across Vere thanks to Auguste’s predilections.

The number of pets with pierced nipples had doubled in the wake of Laurent’s claiming and for a while afterwards all the new contracts arriving at court were in varying shades of blond. Laurent found it faintly contemptible but it seemed to amuse Auguste and he jested that if Laurent appeared in court dressed in nothing but feathers, the pets would all come to dinner the next night turned into birds.

Laurent wasn’t sure if the corsets had been intended to test that theory at first or not but now they were certainly being taken very seriously. A novelty at court, more commonly found beneath the heavy gowns of the nobility, the metal-boned garment enhance Laurent’s slender, androgynous figure even further than his formal clothing ever had. When worn at its full restriction Auguste could wrap both of his hands all the way around Laurent’s waist.

Along with the beautifully embroidered corsets, Laurent had been gifted a ring of gold for the tip of his cock to match the ones through his nipples. Auguste himself had held the needle that time and he seemed very pleased with the result. Laurent thought he might lead his pet around by it given the chance, but as it was the King settled for an elaborate golden collar by which he could be leashed. The collar was a solid but ornate piece of curling gold filigree that cut high around Laurent’s throat and curled down over his clavicles. Between the skin warmed metal that kept his head high and the tight-laced corset, Laurent’s posture was never less than perfect.

‘I hadn't imagined the King would have such exotic tastes,’ Lord Duvall’s wide-eyed pet murmured on first seeing Laurent in his newest corset of sapphire blue Kemptian silk.

Seated at Laurent’s right, Ancel rolled his eyes. ‘Of course _you_ would be surprised. I can’t imagine Lord Dull-vall has ever offered you anything more exciting than a blindfold and a gentle spanking.’

Ancel was relatively new to the court but that hadn’t stopped him from gossiping, backstabbing, and manipulating his way to the top of the pet hierarchy. Laurent liked him, which surprised no-one more than himself. The red-haired pet was sharp, intelligent and ambitious, and he offered a pleasant enough diversion from the tiresome routines of the palace. Not that Laurent wasn’t wary at first. New pets often tried to ingratiate themselves with him, thinking it was a way to gain favour with the King, or with the intent of ousting Laurent from his prized position. Neither approach worked. Laurent was nothing but honest with his brother about his opinions on the goings on at court and while Auguste didn’t ask as often as Laurent would have liked, he did listen to what he had to say.

The King didn’t like it when Laurent spent too much time around the nobility and knowing the way they watched him, the things they tittered about behind manicured fingers, Laurent didn’t particularly mind avoiding them. The other pets reactions to him varied between being intimidated, jealous, and full of sneering contempt, but Ancel seemed to view him as an ally, a kindred spirit of sorts. Where Laurent had been found lacking, no doubt due in part to his cold attitude towards the pets who considered him only half a rung above themselves, Ancel filled the unofficial role of head pet with absolute ease, forcing the rest to fall into place around him.

Another lesser pet spoke up then, saying something faintly insulting about the permanency of certain toys.

‘It’s different,’ Ancel said dismissively. ‘Laurent doesn’t have to worry about catching a new contract, he belongs to the King. And it’s not as if he shares him with anyone, so why not indulge every whim or fancy?’

Laurent had been letting the conversation wash over him, focused on where Auguste was speaking with Prince Torveld of Patras across the room, but Ancel’s words caught his attention like a barbed hook.

The pets seemed placated with such an explanation. Of course the King might do whatever he pleased with his property, might twist it and ruin it beyond repair if he chose to. It was his right. It wasn’t that which crawled darkly into Laurent’s head, nor was it the reminder that this was a permanent arrangement - Laurent had long since stopped troubling himself with thoughts of the future, just getting through the day minute by minute often proved challenging enough.

No, it was the sudden realisation that Auguste might one day decide to _share_.

The thought of servicing another man the way he did his brother made bile rise in Laurent’s throat, the only thing worse he could imagine was being given away for good. He would always be Auguste’s in name but the King was free to take more than one pet and if he did that, or worse, if he married, Laurent could be passed off as a favour to anyone and everyone.

He couldn’t let that happen. When he looked back towards Auguste he found the King’s attention was already fixed on him, as was the dark gaze of the Patran prince sitting at his side. Auguste made a slight gesture with two fingers and Laurent stood carefully, excusing himself from the pets who watched with interest as he made his way across the room to his brother’s side.

Learning to walk swiftly but gracefully with a plug in place had been a challenge. Even the smallest, the very first one he’d worn, was large enough to drive him to distraction. The one he wore now was bigger, although far from the largest Auguste had gifted him, but before his brother had fitted it inside him that morning he’d slid three golden balls ahead of it, each the size of a small apricot. One held a weight, another had raised ceramic patterns on its surface, and the final one contained a bell that Laurent swore he could hear whenever he moved. Each step he took was sweet agony as they shifted inside him, rubbing against each other and pressing tantalisingly against every sensitive spot. The fullness and the pressure was enough that if Laurent didn’t watch his every move, didn’t hold himself with flawless control, he’d tip over into desperation. If not for the cage he’d be hard and wet beneath his silks, leaking down his thighs, and he took a moment to be grateful to Auguste for sparing him that particular humiliation.

‘Laurent,’ Auguste greeted him with a smile as he sunk to his knees at the King’s side. ‘Prince Torveld will be joining us for a private dinner tonight. Won’t that be nice?’

The Prince had been in Vere for only a few days, negotiating a trade deal. That he had come in person was either a huge compliment or an equally large slight, Laurent had not figured out which it was yet.

He smiled politely at Torveld as Auguste’s hand squeezed the nape of his neck gently. ’I look forward to serving your Highness at dinner.’

Laurent could only hope that he would be serving food and nothing more.

* * *

‘He’s exquisite.’

Laurent allowed himself no reaction to Prince Torveld’s compliment. He’d been relieved at first to hear that the dinner was merely a dinner, he would not have to entertain their guest in any more intimate ways.

The relief had not lasted.

‘In Patras,’ Auguste had explained, ‘people eat and socialise seated around low tables.’

The King’s chambers had a formal dining room for entertaining but when Auguste guided Laurent into the room the table had been removed and low chairs and cushions had been arranged in a circle on the carpet.

‘There’s no table here,’ Laurent had pointed out and his brother smiled.

When the Prince arrived, Laurent was naked on his hands and knees in the centre of the room, a cold, burnished metal tray placed atop his back laden with small bowls of sweetmeats and fresh fruit.

Auguste had been concerned that Laurent would not be able to hold such a position for a long period of time and so he had introduced an incentive. A length of chain joined Laurent’s nipple piercings to the ring in the head of his cock with barely any slack. Then, to make things more interesting, Auguste had attached to each of the three rings a set of tear-drop shaped weights cast in heavy gold. If Laurent shifted his position the weights dragged at his tender flesh, if he tried to move to offer one part of his body relief the chain pulled painfully on another.

The two men had spent much of the past hour discussing politics and sharing niceties. Laurent had allowed himself to tune them out, focusing instead on breathing through the cramps that arose in his muscles as he held perfectly still. But with the food mostly gone, the conversation turned to the King’s pet and Torveld did not hesitate to express his admiration.

‘Isn’t he?’

Auguste rested his goblet of wine on the tray and Laurent tried to calm the slight trembles that wracked his frame from the effort of holding still. If he spilled the wine he didn't know what his brother would do and he didn’t want to find out.

An unfamiliar hand skimmed over the back of Laurent’s thigh and he had to fight not to flinch. It had been such a long time since anyone besides Auguste or a servant or a fellow pet had touched him.

‘You could put an amphora in here,’ said Prince Torveld, his fingers dipping dangerously close Laurent’s plug. ‘Have him hold your wine.’

Auguste laughed. ‘Now there’s an idea.’

‘Exquisite,’ said Prince Torveld again. ‘What man could pass on the temptation to sample such a treat.’

The blood rushed from Laurent’s face and he felt the tray wobble as his back dipped slightly. He had not had the chance to discuss his fears with Auguste before the dinner and now the very situation he’d feared seemed on the verge of playing out.

Auguste noticed his reaction, attuned as he was to every subtlety of Laurent’s body. He did not deny Prince Torveld but he re-directed the conversation with skill and aplomb until the Prince was waxing lyrical about his recent trip to Ios, all thoughts of sampling Laurent’s services forgotten.

After the Prince retired for the night Auguste removed the tray from Laurent’s back and he fell forward onto his elbows, whining when the weights and the chain tugged at the head of his cock.

‘You were a wonderful table,’ Auguste teased, coming to crouch at his head but making no move to release the chain. ‘Prince Torveld seemed utterly besotted.’

‘Please,’ Laurent gasped, shaking from head to foot now he didn’t have to hold himself still.

‘Hm?’ Auguste unlaced his trousers casually and cupped a hand under Laurent’s jaw, guiding his head back up. ‘I’ll take the weights off in a little while, you can stand them a bit longer.’

Laurent wasn’t sure he could but Auguste’s cock was in his mouth before he could argue. Auguste fucked his throat with easy rolls of his hips, the movement jostling the weights which pulled so cruelly on Laurent’s aching nipples, pre-come leaking down the one in the head of his cock to drip onto the carpet. Laurent hadn’t even noticed he was hard.

After Auguste came he finally unclipped the weights and the relief was such that Laurent might have climaxed on the spot if not for the tight ring around his sac pulling his balls down and away. Auguste’s recent amusement was denying Laurent orgasm, pushing him to the brink and bringing him back until his composure broke and he begged for release. Laurent could already tell he would not be allowed to come that night but even just being free to lay on the carpet without being tugged painfully in one place or another was reward enough.

He had done well, Auguste had said so. And so Laurent felt brave enough to raise the issue of being shared with his brother.

Auguste looked troubled. ‘I don’t want to force you. And the thought of anyone else touching you is maddening. But if he asks, I can’t refuse him hospitality. That kind of thing starts wars and we cannot risk losing Patras’ support.’

‘Please,’ Laurent fisted his hands in his brother’s shirt. ‘Please, I know I have no right to ask, but he likes you, he respects you. You could turn him away and not make it an insult. Just, don’t make me, please, Auguste, brother, I don’t want anyone else, only you.’

‘Do you understand what you’re asking of me? He’s a prince, Laurent.’

‘Please,’ Laurent’s eyes burned and he hid his face against Auguste’s shoulder. ‘I’ll do anything else, but just for you.’

‘Anything?’

Laurent knew he was signing himself away but there was so little he had left to offer and despite everything, he still trusted his brother.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Anything.’

* * *

‘There will be no aphrodisia,’ Auguste warned. ‘No chalis. Not this time. You wanted to prove yourself, I can’t let you cheat.’

Laurent tugged at the cuffs holding his wrists above his head. He had agreed to this, to submit to Auguste’s dare. _Anything_ , he’d said, and his brother took him at his word.

Auguste had bound his legs, ankles tucked against thigh, thin cord ropes holding him down and splayed open like a butterfly. Laurent was determined not to fail, not when the cost was so high. He’d prove to Auguste that he was worth keeping, that he was too precious, too valuable to be shared.

Auguste settled on the bed and pushed gently on Laurent’s bent knees until his hips twinged with the strain of being spread so wide. ‘You look lovely tied up,’ he said.

When he dipped his head down to take Laurent’s cock into his mouth, the first hint of misgivings fractured Laurent’s poised calm. Auguste rarely sucked him like this, only if he’d been very good, and Laurent had not done anything yet. His brother’s mouth was hot and wet and Laurent went from barely aroused to hard and dripping in only a few minutes.

‘So responsive,’ Auguste grinned, rolling Laurent’s balls gently between his fingers, plucking at the leather ring he'd fitted around them before they began. ‘I think you’ll like what I have for you.’

He tugged gently at the ring that pierced through the tip of Laurent’s cock, making him writhe against the bed. The sensation was always so strange, the metal moving inside of him where nothing had ever gone before.

‘This practice is popular in Patras. Prince Torveld himself told me of it.’ Auguste moved to pick something up from the low table beside the bed. ‘He thought you might enjoy it.’

When he turned back Auguste was holding a thin length of silver, roughly the length and thickness of the fine brush Laurent used to apply paint to his eyelids. It gleamed in the light, slick with something viscous. Laurent eyed it with trepidation.

‘It’s called a sound, isn’t that interesting? Apparently it feels quite intense,’ said Auguste, reaching for Laurent’s hard cock and rubbing at his frenulum, tapping the ring with his thumbnail. ‘I need you not to wriggle now, Laurent.’

Laurent froze as Auguste brought the thin end of the sound to the head of his cock. It was just slightly thicker than Laurent’s cock ring and he teased his slit with it, pre-come gleaming on the metal as he dipped it ever so slightly in and out of the tender hole.

‘Are you ready?’ Auguste asked.

Laurent’s chest heaved, he was pulling at his restraints without noticing. He wanted to call this off and they hadn’t even begun yet. The light pressure of the sound rubbing against his sensitive head was terrifying and stimulating, he had always been very sensitive there. He didn’t want it, such a violation, it wasn’t right.

Finally, very slowly, Auguste began to slide the metal inside him. Laurent whined at the feeling, clenching his teeth so he would not beg for it to end. If the tip of his slit was sensitive, the inside was more so. It hurt. It stung and it _ached_ , the sound felt enormous, the slick metal stretching him more than he could stand.

‘You’re taking it so well,’ Auguste said, watching enraptured as he fed the sound deeper into his brother’s cock. ‘Just a bit more, there’s a good boy.’

Auguste fucked the sound very carefully in and out, sinking a little deeper each time. Laurent’s whole groin ached, he couldn’t comprehend how he was still so hard, how it could feel so incredible while hurting so much. He was breathing out little hitching wounded noises every time Auguste pushed it in.

‘You’ve nearly taken the whole thing.’

Laurent looked down and moaned. Auguste was right, practically the entire length of the sound was inside his sore cock.

‘Do you like this?’ Auguste asked, watching Laurent rock his hips desperately. ‘Do you like being fucked like this?

Laurent knew there was only one answer Auguste wanted to hear. ‘Yes,’ he gasped.

‘Would you like to try a bigger one? There’s a selection, you see.’ Auguste held up a fold of velvet with a variety of sounds in increasing sizes, the largest was as thick as a candle and Laurent felt faint looking at it. ‘I think we’ll work up to this one, today,’ he pointed at one three sizes larger than what was currently splitting Laurent open. ‘Eventually we’ll get you stretched enough that you can take my whole finger, would you like that?’

_No._ ‘Yes.’

Auguste laughed. ‘Of course you would.’

Laurent was sobbing silently by the time Auguste slid the final sound in place.

‘I can see it,’ he said in an awed voice. ‘Can you feel that?’ he ran his finger along the underside of Laurent’s cock, over the rigid shape of the sound. Laurent tried not to gag.‘We’ll leave it in, for now.’

For now? Laurent swallowed a desperate sound that rose in his chest. Was this not the end of the test? What else could there be?

‘Since you enjoyed that so much,’ Auguste said with a smile, ‘we’ll have to try something more challenging.’

From the table, Auguste picked up a candle. Laurent had not taken the time to wonder why his brother hadn’t lit the oil lamps as usual. They were safer and burned longer than candles which usually were not left in the bedrooms. The one Auguste held had been burning for a while, dripping shiny wax down the edges to pool in the base of the wide metal dish it was set in.

‘This may sting,’ Auguste warned, and then he tilted the candle so that hot wax splattered across Laurent’s chest.

Laurent cried out, the heat was unimaginable, like embers sparking from a bonfire to land on his skin. As the wax cooled the sharp pain faded but the ache remained. Auguste tipped his hand again and the wax dripped across Laurent’s nipple and down over the skin of his belly. Laurent panted, fists clenched and toes curled.

‘Is it too much?’ said Auguste and Laurent shook his head. ‘I’ll have to try harder then.’

The next splash of wax landed on Laurent’s cock and he arched against the bed, a hoarse scream scraping past his lips. Auguste didn’t give him time to recover before he poured more, tiny drops of agony spattering down on his length and over the fragile skin of his balls.

The pain was white noise inside Laurent’s head, a cloud that pushed the outside world away until all he could feel was the ache of arousal, the searing agony, the thrum of adrenaline in his veins. More wax, a long stream of it spilling over his sac and Laurent jolted against his restraints, his vision turning dark around the edges.

‘You’ve always cried prettily,’ Auguste sighed and Laurent flinched expecting more pain when his brother wiped at his wet cheeks. ‘Are you ready to admit defeat?’

Laurent didn’t recognise his own voice when he spoke. ‘No.’

Auguste smiled like he was proud of him. ‘I didn’t think so.’

Auguste fucked him then, the wax cracking on his skin, the sound still stretching his tender slit open. He took him hard and carelessly, sliding two fingers alongside his cock to split Laurent open wider. He untied the leather clasp around Laurent’s balls and when he began to pump the sound in and out of Laurent’s cock, all the while thrusting against his prostate, Laurent came so hard he lost consciousness.

When he returned to himself he was still in the ropes and something in him almost broke when he realised it wasn’t over, that alone had not been enough to convince Auguste of his devotion. There was something cold resting on his chest and Laurent went very still when he saw it was a knife.

‘Don’t look so scared, I’m not going to cut you,’ Auguste joked. He’d removed the sound, to Laurent’s relief, and he hadn’t put Laurent’s plug back inside him.

With studied precision Auguste lifted the knife and scraped the wax away from Laurent’s chest, running the sharp tip of it over the sore skin it revealed. It was an odd but pleasant feeling, satisfying, even when it hurt. Auguste used his fingers to peel away any lumps that the knife couldn’t catch, pinching his nipple playfully when he was done there.

Laurent had been riding the high of his release, the rush of endorphins from not being in pain any more leaving him floaty and blissed out, but he was thrown out of his daze when Auguste took hold of his softening cock.

‘Be very, very still,’ he said and set to scraping the wax away from his length. He used his fingers for the wax that had hardened on Laurent’s balls, but took up the knife again for the streaks that had spilled further down.

Auguste skimmed the blade close to Laurent’s hole and he keened high in his throat when something slipped inside him before he understood it was only Auguste’s fingers.

‘Hush now,’ he said, setting the knife aside. ‘You know I’d never hurt you.’

Auguste fingered him with three, then four fingers, up to the knuckle.

‘I was thinking on Prince Torveld’s creative suggestion,’ he said, pulling out then returning with his hand slicked with oil. ‘The Akielon delegation will be arriving soon, do you think it would amuse them to be served wine from inside the King’s pet?’

Laurent moaned as Auguste rubbed over his prostate.

‘You looked so pretty swollen full of my come,’ Auguste rubbed the other hand that wasn’t inside him over Laurent’s belly. ‘I think it would suit you well to be filled again. We need to loosen you up first though, to fit an amphora inside here.’

He twisted his fingers and Laurent finally understood, Auguste intended to put his whole hand inside him.

‘What do you say, Laurent?’ Auguste asked with a smirk. He clearly thought he'd outwitted his brother. ‘An amphora, or Prince Torveld?’

Laurent closed his eyes and tried to picture himself in this position but with any other man. Then, reluctantly, he rocked down against Auguste’s fingers.

‘You surprise me, I never thought you’d be this ripe for it.’

Auguste spread his left hand wide over Laurent’s stomach, turning the broad span of his right where it was pressed against Laurent’s rim. He pulled out and applied yet more oil then, tucking his thumb in against his palm, he pushed.

Laurent was reminded of the first time Auguste had fit a plug inside him, how it had resisted, too broad, too thick, then slid inside all at once. This was the same on a larger scale but when Auguste was finally sucked into him it was with his wrist spreading him wide instead of the thin metal stem of a plug.

‘You took it so easily,’ Auguste said, and when he twisted his hand Laurent thought he would pass out again. Auguste began to fuck back and forth and it felt as if he were reshaping Laurent’s insides, pushing into parts of him that were never supposed to be touched.

Laurent whined brokenly, too overstimulated and overwhelmed to even attempt to fight it. Auguste poured oil over his wrist until he was coated in it, splashing it onto the sheets, and rubbed a finger from his other hand around Laurent’s rim where it was stretched out and shiny around his arm.

‘Let’s see how much more you can take.’

He worked himself deeper inside in short, steady thrusts until Laurent knew that he’d never recover from it, that this would be the ruin of him.

‘Please, it’s too big, I’ll die,’ he sobbed and Auguste laughed.

‘Don’t be so dramatic, Laurent. You won’t die. You were made for this.’ He fucked in a little more and Laurent thought he’d vomit all over the sheets. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ Auguste asked. ‘Just say the word and this will end. But you know what that means.’

Torveld, who wanted to put a wine cask inside him. Torveld, who told Auguste about sounding.

‘No,’ Laurent moaned. ‘Please, don’t stop.’

‘Didn’t you ask for this?’ Auguste spread his fingers wide inside Laurent and it felt like dying.

‘Yes.’ He had. He’d asked for this. Begged for it.

‘What does that make you, I wonder?’

Auguste was inside him almost to the elbow, and all because Laurent had asked for it.

‘I- I don’t know.’ A fool?

‘A slut,’ said Auguste, pressing against something that made Laurent’s cock twitch and throb. ‘Admit it, Laurent.’

‘I’m a slut,’ Laurent repeated dutifully, tears spilling down his cheeks.

‘Whose slut?’ Auguste asked, grinding against Laurent’s prostate.

‘Your slut, I’m your slut, Auguste.’

‘That’s right, you are. Just look at yourself,’ said Auguste and Laurent obeyed, he glanced down at where he was leaking onto his belly and moaned in horror when he realised at this angle he could see Auguste inside of him, the visible distension of his stomach bulging as he moved.

‘Come for me, little slut,’ Auguste said, rubbing his palm over Laurent’s hard cock and pressing against his own fist showing through from his insides.

Laurent came. He was stretched so wide it felt like flying apart, it hurt more than it felt good and he wished he would pass out again.

Auguste pulling his arm out was almost as unpleasant for Laurent as taking it had been in the first place, he thought his insides would come out along with it and spill all over the bed. He truly thought he might die, how there was no blood on his brother’s fist astounded him. Auguste pushed his fingers back inside Laurent’s gaping hole, seeming fascinated by the change he’d made to his brother’s body. He rubbed at Laurent’s distended, swollen rim and spread him wide with both hands.

‘I can see inside you,’ he said and Laurent squirmed.

Auguste was hard again and he stroked himself with one hand still inside Laurent’s gape, rubbing at his prostate. It was too much, Laurent couldn’t harden again, but he came dry on his brother’s fingers when Auguste tucked the head of his cock inside Laurent’s spread hole and painted his insides with his release.

‘You’ve convinced me, sweetheart,’ Auguste said as he freed Laurent from his restraints. ‘I won’t make you serve Prince Torveld. If he asks I’ll send someone else. Besides, he’s gentle in bed, or so I’m told. You’d have been bored with him.’

‘Thank you,’ Laurent’s voice was raw and the words seemed to scrape his throat bloody on the way out.

‘The Akielon delegation will be arriving in less than a week,’ Auguste continued, unwinding the ropes from Laurent’s thighs and rubbing over the deep grooves they’d cut into his skin. ‘I hear King Damianos enjoys leaving marks on his slaves. He likes them pale,’ Auguste trailed a hand over Laurent’s neck, ‘and blond.’

He slid two fingers down to tug at the rim of Laurent’s gaping hole. ‘Like this, you could take both of us at once.’


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Laurent woke alone.

It was early, he could hear birds singing outside and the morning sunlight gleaming through the window cast the room in a rich glow. When he rolled onto his side his shoulders came alive with pain, the muscles stiff and sore from being held above his head for so long the previous night. Laurent rubbed his thighs together. His cock hurt, bruised on the inside from the sound, and his ass still felt slick and loose from being fisted. He'd been gaping too wide to hold his plug in and so he'd slept without it. Laurent had almost broken down when he realised how empty he felt without something inside him, how hollow. It felt wrong. Had he changed so much?

It had been worth it, he told himself, but his thoughts lingered on Auguste’s words.

Damianos of Akielos liked blonds. He liked to hurt them enough that it left marks. He would arrive at Arles in a matter of days, and Laurent's deal with Auguste had not excluded the right of kings.

Would Auguste go through with his threat? Would he really expect Laurent to spread for the man who had almost killed his brother? Laurent felt sick and heated with rage at the thought. He stood on shaky feet and looked around the bedchamber. Auguste would be occupied until the early afternoon, he was alone. He acted without thinking, as though his body had taken over. He dressed in Auguste’s clothes, his brother had long stopped bothering to lock them away, and forewent the usual routine of paint, jewels, chains, corset, plug. It felt more than strange to wear proper clothes again, even ones that were too large for him.

There were no guards on the door, Auguste rarely left them with Laurent when he could have them by his side. He trusted his brother alone. Or he trusted him not to run. The thought almost stopped Laurent in his tracks but he didn’t let himself falter. Laurent knew he was doing the right thing. When had this stopped being something he and Auguste were enduring together and become the twisted, monstrous bond that existed between them now?

It was easier than Laurent had expected to get down to the stables unseen. Out of his silks and jewels with his face puffy and pink from crying half the night he did not look remotely like the King’s pampered pet, and the few people he encountered didn’t spare him a second glance.

Laurent had only ridden a handful of times in the years since the ceremony. Once or twice he’d joined the pets in their bower when Auguste and the other nobles had gone hunting but he’d found the experience challenging with a plug in place and Auguste hadn’t wanted to put him through that too often. It was hard for Laurent to watch the hunt and not participate as he would have done once, so he didn’t argue when his brother urged him to stay behind at the palace.

The last time he'd joined his brother for a ride, Auguste had fucked him afterwards in the debatable privacy of the stable yard and he’d mused, his mind wandering as it often did during sex, on the idea of a saddle with a cock fixed to the seat, of making Laurent trot and canter in the ring while riding more than the horse. Laurent had not been eager to make this fantasy a reality, and so he’d stopped asking Auguste if he could visit the stables at all.

The scent of hay and saddle leather was still a comfort. Laurent had always loved the stables, they were his favourite place to spend time as a child and returning to them now brought fresh tears to his eyes. He didn’t recognise any of the horses, his own gelding was not in his old stall but there was a pretty strawberry roan stud of a similar height who whickered softly at Laurent when he approached him and lipped at his hand curiously.

His saddle and bridle were slung carelessly over his stable door as if whoever had tended him did not know much at all about riding. Laurent hurried to tack him up, one eye watching the door to the barn for people.

He was about to mount and ride out when someone appeared, a blanket slung over one shoulder and a brush in the other.

Jord, Captain of the King’s Guard glanced at Laurent and did a double take when he realised who he was.

Laurent’s heart sank. Of course it would be Jord, who scorned him and was so loyal to Auguste.

Jord seemed stunned to see him there, he looked around as though he expected the King to appear from beneath a pile of hay. Laurent waited, his heart in his throat and his hand clenched around the reins, as Jord slowly came to understand what was happening.

There was a long moment of silence where Laurent was certain he would call the rest of the guards and then Jord stepped aside, leaving the door free.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, and Laurent physically jolted at the shock of hearing those words used to address him again.

He swallowed thickly and said, ’Thank you, Jord.’

Laurent didn’t waste any time, swinging himself up onto the horse’s back and taking off from the stable yard at a canter. He was still certain he’d be stopped, that at any moment he’d be caught and dragged before his brother to pay for what he was doing.

It didn’t happen. Laurent rode out of the palace and into the city. Arles was beautiful in the sunlight, as it always was. Laurent skirted around the worst edges of the worst districts and made for the city gate that led out into the fields of Belloy.

It had been too long since Laurent had last ridden but he loved it still. He rode for an hour at the fastest clip it was safe to, pushing his mount past what he was accustomed to until he sweated and foamed at the mouth. When Laurent reached a small copse of trees with a stream passing by he halted and let him drink, sliding from the saddle in a jumble of aching limbs.

Laurent lay in the grass and watched the sunlight filter through the trees in fractured shards. He was free. The thought did not fill him with joy as he’d expected it would. He tried another. He would never have to wear pet silks again, never suck his brother’s cock for a crowd of simpering nobles, never be fucked until he thought he’d tear in two.

He would never see Auguste again.

The panic took him by surprise, freezing the air in his lungs. He felt a cold wave of terror descend upon him, his heart racing in his chest until he thought it would burst, sharp tremors wracking his body. Laurent curled into a ball on the grass and shook.

He would have to leave Vere, he thought, teeth chattering in his head. He’d hear all the news of his brother sixth hand, from people who had no cause to care for him. Anything could happen and he’d be too far away to help. Akielos could attack, Auguste might have to fight Damianos again. Laurent remembered his brother falling on the battlefield at Marlas, the blood on the Akielon’s sword, Laurent’s abject certainty that his brother had died until he’d collapsed to his knees at his side and realised he was still breathing.

Auguste might die and Laurent would never be able to say goodbye.

Laurent rolled onto his knees and vomited into the grass. It was mostly bile, he’d not eaten anything before he left. He crawled to the stream and rinsed his mouth out, risking small sips of the cold water. He’d brought no supplies with him, not even a skin he could fill.

Laurent sat back and looked around. The horse was grazing not far away in a patch of shade. He stumbled to his feet and went over to him, burying his face in his neck. Auguste had taught him to ride, had held his hand while he sat serious-faced on his first small pony.

Auguste was everything Laurent had and he was abandoning him.

Laurent was never meant to be king. What future did he have before this, a political marriage to a noblewoman he couldn’t stand, perhaps retiring to Chastillon with her to raise a family, occasionally visiting court to be granted brief moments with the King. At least as Auguste’s pet he’d had a secure, permanent position in his brother’s life.

Laurent stepped back and looked around. The sun was lower in the sky than he’d thought it should be, he wasn’t certain how much time he’d lost in his anxious fit.

The strawberry roan swung his head around to look at him curiously and he stroked its soft nose, then he swung up onto his back and urged him back towards Arles.

***

The fear set in when he rode through the palace gates.

Laurent had been so resolved in his decision to return he'd not let himself think about the consequences of what he’d already done by leaving.

He hoped no-one suspected that Jord had seen him go.

Someone must have seen him ride in because Auguste was waiting in the stable yard. The sight of him settled the tearing fear in Laurent’s chest, nothing had happened to him while he was gone. Laurent slid bonelessly off the horse and took a step towards his brother.

Auguste struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand.

The shock of it sent Laurent to his knees. He pressed his fingers to his aching cheek and blinked up at Auguste, stunned.

‘What have you done.’

‘Auguste-’

‘Shut up,’ Auguste said, his voice toneless. ‘Do not speak to me. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you were dead, Laurent.’

At Auguste’s back, Jord, stood with the rest of the King’s guard, shifted uncomfortably. Laurent avoided meeting his eye.

‘You,’ Auguste pointed at the servants hovering at the edge of the yard, ‘take the horse. And you,’ he turned to the guards. ‘Take my brother. Strip him and bring him to the gardens.’

Jord stepped forward and took hold of Laurent’s arm, helping him gently to his feet. He waved the other guards back when they crowded in, eager for a chance to touch the King’s pet.

‘Follow the King,’ he said and they slunk away after Auguste who was striding towards the palace.

‘I’m sorry,’ Laurent said in a quiet voice and Jord sighed.

‘So am I.’

Laurent didn't know what Auguste had planned as a punishment for this but he knew he would hate it. Jord let him stay dressed for the walk through the palace grounds and helped him out of his clothes when they reached the gardens. He was careful not to touch Laurent too much and he did not stare.

‘Do you know what's going to happen?’ he asked and Jord shook his head. He didn’t know either.

It was something like a dream, walking along familiar tiled pathways, past the pond with the koi, fatter now but still alive. Laurent felt as though he was walking behind and above himself, watching his child self take this same route past the hedge maze and out onto the lawn.

The open benches weren’t there any more, they’d been replaced with private arbours. Jord led him past them towards the rose gardens that Auguste favoured. As they grew closer Laurent could hear the sound of people talking, a party, and the throwback to the scene with Lord Neven’s pet jarred even more strongly in his mind.

He had a horrible feeling he knew where this would end.

Auguste was waiting for them and he nodded at a servant who came nervously towards them, a length of silk in his hand. He tied the silk as a blindfold around Laurent’s eyes and the world became a dark blur. Laurent reached for Jord at his side and the Captain took hold of his upper arm in silent reassurance.

Auguste must have already spoken to the assembled courtiers because he didn’t speak as Laurent was guided deeper into the garden. He could hear the nobles talking and laughing, speculation on what Laurent had done, but he could not see them. It sounded as if they were all around him and the panic from earlier returned in a fell swoop.

Laurent’s arms were brought up above his head and padded cuffs were fastened around his wrists. The hands holding him vanished and he realised the cuffs must be attached to ropes when they began to pull, lifting Laurent’s arms higher and higher until he was stood on the tips of his toes. The only thing he could think he was being bound to was the heavy metal frame of the rose trellis that arched across the pathway.

Laurent’s heart pulsed in his throat. Would he be whipped? That was how they punished deserters in the army. He wished he had never returned, that he’d stayed in that clearing with the strawberry roan, that he could have laid there in the sunshine on the grass until he died.

The air in the gardens was perfumed and sweet, it filled Laurent’s senses, limited as they were by the blindfold. No-one spoke to him. He could hear the nobles drifting closer, the rustle of their clothing, the cruel cadence of their vicious comments.

Laurent’s breath came faster. His shoulders burned, they had ached already all day from being stretched and held while Auguste tormented him, and now they were forced to hold almost all the weight of his body. When Laurent sank down onto the balls of his feet he thought they would separate, when he wrapped his hands around the rope and pulled himself up, they screamed.

He flinched when someone stepped close to his front, their presence in his space sudden and unwelcome. It was not his brother, he knew Auguste’s body even when he could not see it. A wad of fabric was forced into his mouth, cutting into his cheeks as it was tied behind his head. He should have spoken up when he could, should have begged Auguste for mercy.

It was too late for that.

Laurent tried to come to terms with the fact that what he feared most was coming true. He was bound naked in the gardens before the court. This was what he had wanted to avoid all along but by fighting so hard against it, he had only made it more inevitable.

A hand, fine fingered and small, settled on his flank. Laurent jerked against the cuffs trying to pull away and a high female voice laughed. A different hand stroked down his back and squeezed his ass and like a floodgate opening, Laurent was being touched all over. Someone stuck their fingers past the gag, someone else pulled on his nipple rings. A hand pinched at the head of his cock, another slid between his cheeks to press at his still loose hole.

Laurent thrashed in his bondage, panicked sounds forced out past the gag. He was trapped, utterly defenceless. He could do nothing to stop it as the courtiers pinched and plucked at him. Something wet touched his cheek and he jerked his head away, a hand fisted roughly in his hair and held him still while whoever it was licked a hot, sticky trail across his face.

Then, at some unspoken signal, the touching stopped. The gardens fell silent, all Laurent could hear was his own panting breaths and the birds singing in the trees.

He waited and it stayed silent. No-one spoke. He almost wished they would. There was nothing, not the tread of a foot on gravel, not the clearing of a throat or the hush of a heavy skirt.

Laurent was alone.

For an hour Laurent hung there, suspended beneath the trellis. The sun burned against his back, he was certain he’d be pink and peeling when he was finally cut down.

The courtiers had retired for lunch, he worked it out when he smelled rich meats wafting on the breeze. Laurent cried bitter tears at the thought of them all sitting on the grass while he struggled.

They trickled back in ones and twos, trailing invasive touches over him and laughing when he recoiled.

Finally, finally, Auguste came to him.

‘Why would you do this, Laurent?’ his brother sounded quietly heartbroken. ‘What would drive you to betray me?’

Laurent made a choked off plea around the gag but Auguste ignored him.

‘I don’t want to punish you but you leave me no choice.’

Hands settled on Laurent’s hips from behind and he sobbed a muffled denial. He remembered the guards, waiting for their chance to fuck the disobedient pet. He thought of Jord letting him flee the stables, helping him out of his stolen clothes.

Auguste stepped closer and stroked Laurent’s cheek, leaning in close so he would not be overheard when he said, ‘You should be grateful I’m not having the horse fuck you.’

Laurent’s feet were kicked apart and rough fingers pressed into his hole. Auguste had left him stretched and slick the night before and he was still loose but there was no fresh oil to be had and the dry touch burned. Whoever was behind him spread him wide, nails digging into his skin, and Laurent sobbed as a stranger’s cock was shoved past his rim. The guard fucked him with no finesse, digging bruises into his hips.

The angle was bad and Laurent’s hurt shoulders enough that he didn’t feel any pleasure from it. He wasn’t sure if that was preferable or not. He was off balance, unstable. Trying to keep his feet while being thrust into from behind was distracting enough. The guard muttered a quiet running commentary in Laurent's ear as he fucked him. He thought the King's pet would be a better lay than this, he was so sloppy, so wrecked, couldn't he put some effort in and take it properly? The men had talked of this, they'd made bets, they'd always wanted to know what it would be like to stick their cock in royalty.

The courtiers cheered when he came, spilling a trail of come down the back of Laurent's thighs.

The second rape was easier, the first guard’s come eased the way.

The third stuck four of his fingers into Laurent's hole and spread him wide before declaring him too worn out for fucking. He'd slapped Laurent's ass hard and ordered him to clench up. Laurent hadn't even tried. He wished he had when the guard struck him again and then, when Auguste did not speak up in protest, spanked him hard directly over his tender rim.

‘I’ll get you tightened up nice.’ The guard worked over the delicate muscle until it swelled and burned and Laurent’s cries were muted by the gag, overpowered by the tittering of the watching nobles.

The guard shoved his fingers roughly back inside and scoffed. ‘You can do better than that,’ he said and hit Laurent harder. When he finally fucked him it hurt so much Laurent was sure the skin had split. He almost hoped it had for the extra lubrication it would offer.

When the fourth guard came he pulled out and spat on Laurent’s ruined hole. ‘That’s all a whore deserves.’

After the fifth, Laurent tried not to count. His mind was empty, thoughts drifting across it like clouds in a summer sky.

He thought of the library, the vanilla scent of old books and dust.

He could hear the courtiers’ voices and it reminded him of auburn hair and the feeling of thick leafy hedges beneath his hands.

One of the guards decided Laurent was still too loose to fuck and took it upon himself to take him with the hilt of his sword instead, the harsh edges of the weapon scraped at his tender skin and Laurent remembered the smell of the battlefield at Marlas.

He thought of Uncle. Of what might drive a man to commit treason.

Laurent knew when it was Jord’s turn with him because before he fucked him he laid his hand gently on Laurent’s strained shoulder and squeezed. Jord was considerate and gentle, it was clear he was trying not to cause any pain.

Laurent hated that the most.

When he was done the courtiers drifted away again and someone let Laurent free from his bonds. He collapsed to the ground, unable to hold himself up, and struggled to push the blindfold away from his eyes.

Auguste’s face swam into view, pale and saddened.

Laurent crawled naked across the grass, coming to a halt to his feet.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Auguste, brother, I'm sorry. Please forgive me.’

‘Oh, Laurent,’ Auguste sighed, kneeling down and taking him into his arms. ‘I never wanted any of this, you know. This was not the life I saw for us.’

‘I know.’ Laurent let himself be cradled on his brother’s lap. He felt entirely empty, all emotion wrung out of him. There was nothing left, no shame, no hate, no fear. The aches and pains of his body, the disgusting feeling of strangers' come leaking out of him, the scrape of Auguste's arms against his sunscorched skin, none of it pierced the haze he hung in. He was beyond it all.

‘I love you,’ he said as Auguste stroked his hair and the birds sang in the rose bushes overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinkiking- I was delighted when I saw who I'd been assigned for this exchange, every single one of your requests was amazing and if I'd had more time I'd have filled them all! (I might yet, a lot of the things you want to see line up with my own requests, or, in other words, Same Kink!) This prompt really grabbed me and I knew immediately I had to write it, in fact I may have gotten a bit carried away with the plot. I really hope you enjoyed it!


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